THE  BENSON  LIBRARY  OF  HYMNOLOGY 

Endowed  by  the  Reverend 

Louis  Fitzgerald  Benson,  d.d. 

% 

LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 
PRINCETON,   NEW  JERSEY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/fannycrosbyOOcros 


FANNT  CROSBT'S 
OWN  STORT 


Fanny  Crosby 
(Frances  Jane  Crosby  Van  Alstyne) 


FANNY   CROSBY'S 

STORY  OF 
NINETY-FOUR    YEARS 


Retold  by 
S.  TREVENA  JACKSON 

Author  of  "Lincoln's  Use  of  the  Bible,"  etc.,  etc. 


New   York  Chicago 

Fleming  H.  Revell  Company 

London         and        Edinburgh 


Copyright,  1915,  oy 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


Appreciative  acknowledgment  is  made  for 
permission  to  insert  the  hymns  and  verses 
written  by  Fanny  Crosby,  of  which  The 
Biglow  &  Main  Co.  own  the  copyrights. 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago :  17  North  Wabash  Ave. 
London :  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:      75     Princes    Street 


To  All  Those 
on  earth  and  in  Heaven,  who 
have  been  blessed  and  helped 
by     Fanny     Crosby 's    sacred 
songs    and  joy-crowned   life 


There's  music  in  the  air 

When  the  infant  morn  is  nigh, 
And  faint  its  blush  is  seen 

On  the  bright  and  laughing  sky ; 
Many  a  harp's  ecstatic  sound 
Comes  with  thrill  of  joy  profound 
While  we  list  enchanted  there 
There  is  music  in  the  air. 

There's  music  in  the  air 

When  the  noontide's  sultry  beam 
Reflects  a  golden  light 

On  the  distant  mountain  stream ; 
When  beneath  some  grateful  shade 
Sorrow's  aching  head  is  laid, 
Sweetly  to  the  spirit  there 
Comes  the  music  in  the  air. 

There's  music  in  the  air 

When  the  twilight's  gentle  sigh 
Is  lost  on  evening's  breast 

As  its  pensive  beauties  die ; 
Then,  O  then,  the  loved  ones  gone 
Wake  the  pure  celestial  song. 
Angel  voices  greet  us  there 
In  the  music  in  the  air. 


CONTENTS 


1. 

"  Aunt  Fanny  "... 

II. 

Childhood      . 

III. 

Growing  Into  Womanhood    . 

IV. 

A  Little  Love  Story    . 

V. 

Howl  Became  a  Hymn- Writer 

VI. 

My  Living  Hymns   . 

VII. 

Some  Stories  of  My  Songs     . 

VIII. 

My  Teachers  and  Teaching 

IX. 

My  Notable  Preachers 

X. 

Making  the  Best  of  Every- 

thing   

XI. 

My  Love  for  Children  . 

XII. 

American  Hearts  and  Homes 

XIII. 

My  Visit  to  Cambridge 

XIV. 

Ninety  Golden  Years    . 

XV. 

"  Some  Day,  Till  Then " 

9 

21 

37 
49 
59 
73 
85 
99 
109 

123 

133 
141 

151 
167 
181 


Safe  in  the  Arms  of  Jesus 


Safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus, 

Safe  on  His  gentle  breast, 
There  by  His  love  o'ershaded, 

Sweetly  my  soul  shall  rest. 
Hark  !  'tis  the  voice  of  angels, 

Borne  in  a  song  to  me, 
Over  the  fields  of  glory, 

Over  the  jasper  sea. 

Safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus, 
Safe  on  His  gentle  breast, 

There  by  His  love  o'ershaded, 
Sweetly  my  soul  shall  rest. 

Safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus, 

Safe  from  corroding  care, 
Safe  from  the  world's  temptations, 

Sin  cannot  harm  me  there. 
Free  from  the  blight  of  sorrow, 

Free  from  my  doubts  and  fears : 
Only  a  few  more  trials, 

Only  a  few  more  tears  ! 

Jesus,  my  heart's  dear  refuge, 

Jesus  has  died  for  me : 
Firm  on  the  Rock  of  Ages 

Ever  my  trust  shall  be. 
Here  let  me  wait  with  patience, 

Wait  till  the  night  is  o'er : 
Wait  till  I  see  the  morning 

Break  on  the  golden  shore. 

[  1868  ] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Opposite  page 
Frances  Jane  Crosby  Van  Alstyne       .         .   Title 


Where  Fanny  Crosby  Was  Born 

Fanny  Crosby  as  She  Was  in  1872     . 

Two  Famous  Hymn  Makers — Fanny  Crosby 
and  Ira  D.  Sankey     . 

Fast  Friends  for  Fifty  Years  :  Fanny  Crosby 
and  Hubert  P.  Main 

u  Aunt  Fanny  "  Among  the  Children 

Fanny  Crosby  at  Seventy- five    . 

"Aunt  Fanny's  "  Book  and  Knitting 


28 
64 

82 

138 
164 

178 


In  the  year  1872,  Frances  Ridley  Havergal,  one 
of  England's  sweetest  sacred  singers  and  saint liest 
women ,  paid  the  following  beautiful  tribute  to  Fanny 
Crosby,  her  sister  hymn-writer  in  America, 

Sweet  blind  singer  over  the  sea, 

Tuneful  and  jubilant  !  how  can  it  be 

That  the  songs  of  gladness,  which  float  so  far, 

A.s  if  they  fell  from  the  evening  star, 

Are  the  notes  of  one  who  may  never  see 

"  Visible  music  "  of  flower  and  tree, 

Purple  of  mountain,  or  glitter  of  snow, 

Ruby  and  gold  of  the  sunset  glow, 

And  never  the  light  of  a  loving  face  ? 

Must  not  the  world  be  a  desolate  place 

For  eyes  that  are  sealed  with  the  seal  of  years, 

Eyes  that  are  open  only  for  tears  ? 

How  can  she  sing  in  the  dark  like  this  ? 

What  is  her  fountain  of  light  and  bliss  ? 

O,  her  heart  can  see,  her  heart  can  see  ! 
And  its  sight  is  strong  and  swift  and  free ; 
Never  the  ken  of  mortal  eye 
Could  pierce  so  deep  and  far  and  high 
As  the  eagle  vision  of  hearts  that  dwell 
In  the  lofty,  sunlit  citadel 
Of  Faith  that  overcomes  the  world, 
With  banners  of  Hope  and  Joy  unfurled, 
Garrisoned  with  God's  perfect  peace, 
Ringing  with  paeans  that  never  cease, 
Flooded  with  splendour  bright  and  broad, 
The  glorious  light  of  the  Love  of  God. 


Her  heart  can  see,  her  heart  can  see  ! 
Well  may  she  sing  so  joyously  ! 
For  the  King  Himself,  in  His  tender  grace 
Hath  shown  her  the  brightness  of  His  face ; 
And  who  shall  pine  for  a  glow-worm  light 
When  the  sun  goes  forth  in  His  radiant  might  ? 
She  can  read  His  law,  as  a  shining  chart, 
For  His  finger  hath  written  it  on  her  heart ; 
She  can  read  His  love,  for  on  all  her  way 
His  hand  is  writing  it  every  day. 
"  Bright  cloud  "  indeed  must  that  darkness  be, 
When  "  Jesus  only  "  the  heart  can  see. 


Dear  blind  sister  over  the  sea 

An  English  heart  goes  forth  to  thee. 

We  are  linked  by  a  cable  of  faith  and  song 

Flashing  bright  sympathy  swift  along  ; 

One  in  the  East  and  one  in  the  West 

Singing  for  Him  whom  our  souls  love  best, 

"  Singing  for  Jesus,"  telling  His  love 

All  the  way  to  our  home  above, 

Where  the  severing  sea,  with  its  restless  tide, 

Never  shall  hinder  and  never  divide. 

Sister  !  what  shall  our  meeting  be, 

When  our  hearts  shall  sing,  and  our  eyes  shall  see  J 


Lincoln  the  Great 


I 

With  loyal  devotion  again  we  recall 

The  birthday  of  Lincoln  so  dear  to  us  all; 

Our  president,  hero,  and  statesman  in  one, 

As  firm  as  a  rock  and  as  true  as  the  sun; 

An  honest  defender  of  justice  and  truth, 

A  brilliant  example  he  leaves  for  our  youth, 

The  words  he  has  spoken,  the  deeds  he  has  wrought, 

A  lesson  of  wisdom  and  patience  have  taught. 

II 

When  wildly  the  ship  of  our  union  was  tossed, 
And  sages  predicted  that  all  would  be  lost, 
Still,  still  at  the  helm  like  a  giant  he  stood, 
With  courage  undaunted  repelling  the  flood. 
Then  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  storm-girded  wave, 
And  looking  to  Jesus  the  mighty  to  save, 
Though  billows  were  raging  and  thunders  were  loud, 
He  saw  like  a  vision  God's  bow  in  the  cloud. 

Ill 

His  strong  resolution  no  mortal  could  shake, 

The  old  Constitution  he  would  not  forsake, 

He  reverenced  his  country  and  honored  its  laws, 

A  martyr  to  freedom  he  died  in  her  cause. 

The  pages  of  history,  the  annals  of  fame, 

The  voice  of  the  nation  his  greatness  proclaim, 

The  world  like  a  trumpet  reechoes  his  worth, 

And  crowns  with  bright  laurels  the  day  of  his  birth. 

[February,  igog]  Fanny  J.  Crosby. 


it 


Aunt  Fanny 


»i 


Trustfully,  trustfully 

Come  I  to  Thee ; 
Jesus,  Thou  blessed  One, 

Thine  would  I  be ; 
Then  shall  I  cheerfully, 

Truly  and  earnestly 
Walk  in  Thy  Spirit, 

Saviour,  with  Thee. 

Peacefully,  peacefully 

Come  I  to  Thee ; 
More  of  Thy  presence,  Lord, 

Grant  Thou  to  me ; 
Then  shall  I  carefully, 

Watchfully,  prayerfully 
Walk  in  Thy  Spirit, 

Closer  to  Thee. 

Joyfully,  joyfully 

Come  I  to  Thee  ; 
Thou  art  my  loving  Friend, 

Precious  to  me ; 
O  may  I  restfully, 

Calmly  and  lovingly 
Dwell  in  Thy  Spirit, 

Saviour,  with  Thee. 


[  1898  ] 


u  AUNT  FANNY  » 

"  Singing  for  Jesus,  telling  His  love 
All  the  way  to  the  home  above, 
Where  the  severing  sea  with  its  restless  tide 
Never  shall  hinder,  and  never  divide." 

THIS  little  book  has  been  written 
in  loving  appreciation  of  one 
whom  I  knew  intimately  for 
many  years,  and  whose  hymns  I  have 
sung  since  baby-days.  No  attempt  has 
been  made  to  present  a  critical  study  of 
Frances  Jane  Crosby,  but  simply  to  retell 
the  life  of  the  Sightless  Singer  as  she,  her- 
self, told  it  to  me  on  various  occasions 
when  visiting  my  home.  What  has  been 
brought  together  will,  I  trust,  prove  both 
pleasurable  and  profitable  to  men  and 
women  everywhere,  who  have  been 
helped  and  blessed  by  her  ministry  of 
sacred  song. 

ii 


12    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

I  met  Fanny  Crosby  before  I  went  to 
college,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
when  I  became  a  minister  of  the  Gospel 
and  living  in  a  manse,  the  first  notable 
person  I  would  entertain  should  be  Fanny 
Crosby.  It  is  now  twenty  years  ago 
since  our  home  was  first  honoured  with 
her  presence,  and  each  year  down  to  19 14 
she  was  an  annual  guest.  During  these 
years  I  noted  five  outstanding  character- 
istics in  her  life. 

First,  her  diligent  industry.  Aunt 
Fanny  was  one  of  the  most  industrious 
souls  I  have  ever  known.  Whenever  she 
came  to  visit  us  her  little  work-bag  and 
knitting  needles  were  ever  present.  She 
delighted  in  knitting  wash-rags  for  her 
friends.  It  seemed  quite  impossible  for 
her  to  be  idle.  Some  one  must  be  reading 
to  her,  or  she  must  be  working  out  some 
poem,  or  plying  her  needle,  or  what  not. 
Aunt  Fanny  was  the  soul  of  industry. 

Then  there  was  her  wonderful  memory. 


"Aunt  Fanny"  13 

It  was  in  every  way  remarkable.  In  re- 
lating her  story  to  me  she  was  always 
able  to  recall  her  poems  at  will,  and  quote 
them  without  missing  a  word.  In  the 
church  services  she  would  sing  her  own 
hymns  with  the  choir  and  congregation 
with  as  much  ease  and  accuracy  as  those 
who  had  the  books  in  their  hands,  and 
in  place  of  reading  a  set  lesson  from  the 
Scriptures,  would  repeat  chapters  from 
the  Bible. 

Again,  an  outstanding  unselfishness 
possessed  her  through  all  the  days  of 
her  life.  She  could  have  been  a  rich 
woman  had  she  cared  to  become  one ; 
but  she  poured  out  the  wealth  of  her 
heart  and  mind  solely  to  make  others 
happier  and  better.  Often  when  a  dona- 
tion was  presented  to  her  from  an  indi- 
vidual or  the  church,  she  would  protest 
that  she  was  being  given  too  much  ;  and 
she  often  shared  what  she  received  with 
those  who  needed  it  more  than  herself. 


14    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

Then  there  was  her  unfailing  joyous- 
ness,  which  was  as  a  sunbeam  wherever 
she  went.  I  never  once  heard  her  utter 
a  sad  or  regretful  note.  She  was  at  all 
times  as  lively  as  a  cricket.  There  was 
always  a  bright  light  in  her  cloud.  One 
of  her  favourite  expressions  was  :  "  Bless 
your  dear  soul,  I  am  so  happy  to  see 
you."  This  spirit  of  joy  she  scattered 
everywhere  she  went,  among  old  and 
young,  rich  and  poor.  To  feel  glum  or 
depressed  with  Aunt  Fanny  around  so 
full  of  real  joyousness  brought  always  a 
sense  of  reproach.  Her  joy  was  infec- 
tious. People  caught  its  spirit  and  gath- 
ered it  into  their  own  hearts. 

Finally,  there  was  her  wonderful,  un- 
failing sympathy.  In  my  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  Fanny  Crosby  for  over 
twenty  years,  I  must  confess  that  I  have 
not  found  a  person  with  so  many  cupfuls 
of  comfort  for  burdened  and  distressed 
souls.     Hundreds    of    her    hymns    were 


"Aunt  Fanny"  15 

nothing  more  than  the  outpouring  of  her 
cup  of  comfort  to  make  the  weak  strong, 
and  the  blind  to  see.  If  she  knew  of  a 
troubled  heart  or  a  wounded  body  among 
her  friends,  it  mattered  not  how  far  away 
the  sufferer  might  be,  Fanny  could  not 
retire  at  night  until  she  had  thought 
out  of  her  heart  some  message  for  the 
troubled  soul. 

While  visiting  our  home  about  three 
years  ago,  she  heard  of  one  of  her  blind 
school  friends,  by  the  name  of  Alice 
Holmes,  whom  she  had  not  seen  in  forty 
years.  Alice  was  sick  and  Fanny  said, 
11  Dear  Alice,  I  am  two  years  older  than 
she.  We  roomed  together  in  the  Institu- 
tion for  the  Blind.  I  wish  I  could  see 
and  help  her."  The  next  day  a  friend 
took  Fanny  to  see  her  suffering  school- 
mate, and  I  accompanied  her.  Alice 
Holmes  was  somewhat  deaf,  but  she 
knew  the  voice  of  her  school  chum  of 
seventy-five   years  before.     Aunt  Fanny 


16    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

placed  her  arms  around  Alice's  neck  and 
kissed  and  hugged  her,  and  the  two 
blind  women  wept.  I  sat  in  silence  as 
Fanny  poured  out  the  sympathy  of  her 
heart  and  cheered  her  stricken  friend. 
As  we  came  away  Alice  said,  "  Fan,  you 
have  greatly  helped  me  to-day,  and  my 
soul  is  comforted  by  your  visit.  I  have 
long  desired  to  see  you.  Good-bye, 
Fan ;  we  shall  meet  again  in  the  better 
land." 

Fanny  Crosby  not  only  sought  to 
strengthen  the  hearts  of  individuals  but 
she  sent  constantly  her  cup  of  comfort 
to  the  church  as  well.  It  was  my 
custom,  once  a  year,  to  send  her  a  birth- 
day present,  On  her  ninetieth  birthday 
I  sent  her  one  hundred  beautiful  carna- 
tions and  she  sent  this  message  in  return  : 

Dear  friends,  my  heart  is  with  you, 
Your  kindness  I  recall ; 
And  on  ray  ninetieth  birthday 
I  greet  you  one  and  all. 


"Aunt  Fanny"  17 

Oh,  glory  be  to  Jesus, 
My  Saviour,  friend,  and  guide ; 
I'm  going  home  to  praise  Him, 
I'm  walking  by  His  side. 
God  keep  thee,  faithful  pastor, 
And  shield  thee  from  above, 
Beneath  His  royal  banner, 
Of  mercy,  peace,  and  love. 

When  Mr.  Sankey  lay  sick  and  nigh 
unto  death  Fanny  could  not  rest  at  home 
in  Bridgeport.  She  must  go  to  him  and 
give  him  the  comfort  of  her  own  heart. 
She  took  to  him  a  chalice  full  of  consola- 
tion, and  wonderfully  helped  the  great 
gospel  singer  in  the  struggle  through 
which  he  passed  in  the  last  days  of  his 
earthly  pilgrimage.  The  two  sightless 
servants  of  God  (Mr.  Sankey  was  blind 
for  some  years)  sat  together  and  talked 
of  days  gone  by.  Then  God's  Holy  Book 
was  read,  prayer  offered,  one  of  their  old 
battle  hymns  sung,  and  Fanny  went  away. 
But  Sankey  felt  that  an  angel-hand  of 
strength  had  been  held  out   to  him,  and 


i8    Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

that  the  presence  of  Fanny  Crosby  had 
been  to  his  heart  as  a  healing  balm. 

On  one  occasion  I  took  her  to  a  family 
that  had  undergone  a  great  struggle, 
where  the  darkness  was  so  thick  that  it 
could  almost  be  felt.  Poverty's  hand 
had  suddenly  reached  the  home,  for  death 
had  recently  taken  the  father  and  bread- 
winner to  the  land  of  spirits.  There 
seemed  to  be  none  capable  of  comforting 
these  people  who  had  seen  better  and 
brighter  days.  But  when  Fanny  entered, 
she  was  as  skillful  in  her  use  of  words  as 
an  angel  spirit.  She  talked  as  one  in- 
spired of  God.  Then  she  prayed,  and 
what  a  prayer  of  comfort  it  was  !  Before 
leaving  she  gave  to  the  stricken  family 
a  part  of  the  money  the  church  had  given 
to  her  and  said,  "  I  want  you  to  remem- 
ber Jehovah-Jireth.  It  means  '  The  Lord 
Will  Provide.'  '  It  may  not  be  my  way  ; 
it  may  not  be  thy  way,  but  yet  in  His 
own  way  the  Lord  will  provide.'  " 


"Aunt  Fanny"  19 

Last  year,  after  she  had  returned  from 
a  very  delightful  visit  with  us,  she  was 
not  home  a  week  before  she  sent  a 
message  of  good  cheer.  It  was  truly  a 
note  of  comfort  that  came  from  a  loving 
heart. 

Beloved  friends  in  Hackettstown, 

I  greet  you,  one  and  all. 

The  kindness  you  have  shown  to  me 

My  grateful  thoughts  recall ; 

The  flowers  that  on  my  birthday  came 

I  never  will  forget; 

Within  the  garden  of  my  heart 

Those  flowers  are  blooming  yet. 

Beloved  pastor,  called  of  God, 

On  Zion's  walls  to  stand 

And  wield  the  mighty  sword  of  truth 

At  His  supreme  command, — 

I  see  you  toiling  at  your  post, 

I  hear  your  voice  again, 

I  catch  its  well- remembered  tones, 

And,  were  I  strong  as  then, 

I'd  speed  away  in  joyful  haste, 

On  airy  pinions  bright, 

Where  youthful  lips  will  join  to  sing 

My  humble  songs  to-night. 


20    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

And  though  I  may  not  go  to  them, 

I'll  listen  while  they  sing  ; 

And  as  their  music  floats  along 

I'll  hear  its  echoes  ring ; 

And  looking  up  in  trusting  faith, 

Be  this  my  glad  refrain : 

Our  God  be  with  you,  precious  ones, 

Until  we  meet  again. 

And  now  she  has  passed  on  to  the 
Land  of  Pure  Delight  of  which  she  sang 
so  beautifully  and  so  often.  Yet  she  is 
not  dead.  Her  memory  lingers  in  the 
hearts  of  those  who  knew  and  loved  her 
and  on  whom  the  rays  of  her  sunshine 
fell ;  while  amid  that  larger  circle,  the 
wide  world  over,  who  knew  Fanny 
Crosby  only  through  her  ministry  of 
song,  her  name  and  her  influence  are 
among  those  things  which  men  and 
women  of  this  and  succeeding  genera- 
tions will  not  willingly  let  die. 


II 

Childhood 


Jesus  dear,  I  come  to  Thee, 

Thou  hast  said  I  may ; 
Tell  me  what  my  life  should  be? 

Take  my  sins  away ; 
Jesus  dear,  I  learn  of  Thee 

In  Thy  Word  divine  ; 
Every  promise  there  I  see, 

May  I  call  it  mine. 

Jesus  dear,  I  long  for  Thee, 

Long  Thy  peace  to  know ; 
Grant  those  purer  joys  to  me 

Earth  can  ne'er  bestow ; 
Jesus  dear,  I  cling  to  Thee. 

When  my  heart  is  sad 
Thou  wilt  kindly  speak  to  me, 

Thou  wilt  made  me  glad. 

Jesus  dear,  I  trust  in  Thee, 

Trust  Thy  tender  love ; 
There's  a  happy  home  for  me 

With  Thy  saints  above ; 
Jesus,  I  would  come  to  Thee, 

Thou  hast  said  I  may ; 
Tell  me  what  my  life  should  be, 

Take  my  sins  away. 
I  1867  ] 


II 

CHILDHOOD 

"  Hers  was  the  line  of  noble  souls  and  pure, 
Of  patient  doers  well,  dear  friends  of  God, 
Who   faithful   e'en  through  suffering  could 
endure, 
Walking  the  way  the  saints  and  martyrs 
trod." 

IT  was  in  the  year  1895  that  Aunt 
Fanny  Crosby  first  came  to  our 
home.  Thus  began  a  friendship 
that  was  to  so  bind  its  golden  cords  of 
love  around  our  lives  as  to  enable  us  to 
feel  them  drawing  us  to  the  best  and 
highest  things,  even  though  she  has  her- 
self entered  the  realms  of  the  blest. 

After  ten  years'  acquaintance,  I  felt 
free  to  talk  with  Aunt  Fanny,  who  was 
looked  for  at  our  home  just  as  we  look 
for  spring  and  fall.  In  the  glow  of  the 
evening  we  sat  together  in  the  month  of 
23 


24    Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

May.  It  was  a  charming  sunset,  and  I 
endeavoured  to  describe  it  to  her.  She 
clapped  her  hands  and  cried,  "  Glorious, 
glorious." 

"Aunt  Fanny,"  I  said,  "I  have  read 
much  about  your  life  right  from  my 
childhood  days,  and  since,  as  you  say, 
you  expect  to  live  to  be  one  hundred  and 
three  I  want  you  to  give  me,  from  your 
own  heart,  the  story  of  your  life.  Each 
time  you  visit  us  we  will  take  some  par- 
ticular phase." 

The  birch  was  burning  brightly  in  the 
open  fireplace  as  we  sat  together  that 
evening,  and  as  I  drew  my  chair  towards 
hers  she  dropped  her  knitting  in  her  lap 
and  said,  "You  dear  soul,  I  have  been 
thinking  of  what  you  asked  me  at  sun- 
down, and  I  shall  be  as  happy  as  a  lark 
to  tell  you  anything  that  would  be  of 
vital  interest  to  other  lives  to  help  them 
along  the  rugged  path.  Mine  has  been 
an   experience  that  has   ripened  into  a 


Childhood  25 


faith  as  strong  as  the  hills.  It  has  given 
me  a  hope  that  admits  me  into  the  room 
called  Beautiful.  It  has  arrayed  my  path- 
way with  the  jewels  of  love  so  that  in  my 
old  age  I  love  everybody. 

"  Now,  to  begin.  I  was  born  on  the 
twenty-fourth  day  of  March  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  1820  in  Southeast,  Putnam 
County,  New  York.  The  cottage  in  which 
I  was  born  was  only  one  story  high.  My 
mother  was  a  brave,  industrious  woman 
of  the  New  England  type  that  helped  to 
lay  the  foundation  of  this  Republic.  My 
father's  name  was  John  Crosby.  I  have 
no  recollection  of  him,  for  he  died  before 
I  was  twelve  months  old,  but  we  traced 
the  Crosbys  back  to  1635,  when  they 
lived  beyond  the  Charles  River,  and 
were  among  the  founders  of  Harvard 
College.  So  you  see  I  belong  to  a 
granite  stock.  Our  family,  too,  was 
noted  for  its  longevity.  My  mother 
lived  to  be  ninety-one,  my  great-grand- 


26    Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

mother  reached  the  age  of  one  hundred 
and  three,  and  I  would  like  to  go  a  little 
beyond  that. 

"  When  about  six  weeks  old  I  was 
taken  sick  and  my  eyes  grew  very  weak 
and  those  who  had  charge  of  me  poul- 
ticed my  eyes.  Their  lack  of  knowledge 
and  skill  destroyed  my  sight  forever.  As 
I  grew  older  they  told  me  I  should  never 
see  the  faces  of  my  friends,  the  flowers  of 
the  field,  the  blue  of  the  skies,  or  the 
golden  beauty  of  the  stars. 

"  When  my  dear  mother  knew  that  I 
was  to  be  shut  out  from  all  the  beauties 
of  the  natural  world  she  told  me,  in  my 
girlhood,  that  two  of  the  world's  greatest 
poets  were  blind,  and  that  sometimes 
Providence  deprived  persons  of  some 
physical  faculty  in  order  that  the  spiritual 
insight  might  more  fully  awake.  I  re- 
member well  the  day  she  read  to  me, 
with  deep  expression,  Milton's  sonnet  on 
his  blindness : 


Childhood  27 


"  *  When  I  consider  how  my  light  is  spent 
Ere  half  my  days,  in  this  dark  world  and 

wide; 
And    that   one   talent   which   is   death    to 

hide, 
Lodged  with   me  useless,  though  my  soul 

more  bent 
To  serve  therewith  my  Maker,  and  present 
My  true  account,  lest  He  turning  chide ; 
Doth  God  exact  day  labour,  light  denied, 
I  fondly  ask  ?     But  patience,  to  prevent 
That  murmur,  soon  replies,  God  doth  not 

need 
Either  man's  work  or  his  own  gifts;  who 

best 
Bear  His  mild  yoke,  they  serve  Him  best ; 

His  state 
Is  kingly ;  thousands  at  His  bidding  speed 
And  post  o'er  land  and  ocean  without  rest ; 
They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.' 

"Soon  I  learned  what  other  children 
possessed,  but  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
store  away  a  little  jewel  in  my  heart, 
which  I  called  Content.  This  has  been 
the  comfort  of  my  whole  life.  When  I 
was  eight  years  of  age  I  wrote : 


28    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

0  what  a  happy  soul  am  I  ! 

Although  I  cannot  see, 

1  am  resolved  that  in  this  world 

Contented  I  will  be. 

How  many  blessings  I  enjoy, 

That  other  people  don't. 
To  weep  and  sigh  because  I'm  blind, 

I  cannot,  and  I  won't. 

"  I  was  a  child  of  deep  affection  and  a 
great  lover  of  pets.  One  evening  my 
mother  brought  home  a  motherless  lamb 
and  I  said,  '  Mother,  I'll  be  a  little  mother 
to  that  little  creature.  I'll  call  it  Fanny's 
little  lamb.'  Right  there  mother  sat  down 
and  told  me,  for  the  first  time,  the  story 
of  Mary's  Little  Lamb.  I  shall  never  for- 
get it.  I  could  see  in  my  mind's  eye 
Mary  going  to  school  with  her  pet  lamb ; 
so  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  love 
my  lamb.  I  played  with  it  and  took  it 
with  me  wherever  I  went.  We  grew  up 
together,  the  lamb  and  I.  We  roamed 
the  fields,  we  went  over  the  hills,  we  ram- 


Childhood  29 


bled  down  by  the  brook,  and  often  fell 
asleep  together  under  an  old  oak  tree. 
One  day  my  heart  was  broken.  Mother 
sold  my  pet  to  a  butcher,  and  I  wept 
bitter  tears.  They  never  told  me  what 
they  did  with  my  friend  and  companion, 
but  at  nights  before  I  went  to  bed  I 
would  kneel  down  and  cry  and  ask  God 
to  bless  Fanny's  lamb. 

"  My  grandmother  was  to  me  more 
than  I  can  ever  express  by  word  or  pen. 
When  she  knew  that  her  little  grand- 
daughter was  to  be  sightless  for  life,  she 
sought  to  make  up  for  the  loss  of  my 
eyes  by  coming  to  our  home,  taking  me 
on  her  knee  and  rocking  me  while  she 
told  me  of  the  beautiful  sun,  with  its 
sunrise  and  its  sunset.  And  »  v<*  never 
overlooked  its  noonday  splendour.  Of 
the  shining  moon  she  gave  me  such  de- 
scriptions as  I  never  forgot.  The  golden 
stars  were  so  described  by  her  as  to  give 
me  a  love  for  astronomy  that  continues 


30    Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

to  the  present  hour.  The  clouds  with 
their  shapes  and  colours  were  made  real 
to  me  by  her.  One  afternoon  after  a 
thunder-storm  Grandma  caught  me  in 
her  arms  and  took  me  to  the  brow  of  a 
hill  and  described  a  beautiful  rainbow 
overarching  the  Croton  River.  I  remem- 
ber her  saying,  '  O  Fanny,  there  is  such 
a  beautiful  bow  in  the  heavens.  It  has 
seven  colours ;  I  wish  you  could  see  it ;  it 
is  a  sign  of  God's  covenant  of  mercy  to 
this  world.'  She  described  the  colours  in 
such  vivid  language  that  they  were  all 
real  to  me. 

"  She  also  told  me  the  story  of  the  birds. 
I  knew  the  red-headed  woodpecker,  the 
red-winged  blackbird,  the  mocking-bird 
with  its  white  chin,  and  the  bird  with  its 
garment  of  blue.  One  day  I  heard  a 
strange  sound  coming  from  the  meadow 
saying,  *  Whippoorwill.'  Grandma  told 
me  about  the  bird  which  gave  out  that 
curious  note  and  described  its  mottled 


Childhood  31 


wings  and  reddish  brown  breast  and  its 
bristled  mouth,  with  its  white  bristled 
tail.  So,  afterwards,  whenever  I  heard 
the  sound  of  the  whippoorwill  I  knew 
its  colour  and  its  shape.  From  Grand- 
mother I  also  learned  something  of  the 
meadow-lark,  the  cuckoo,  the  song-spar- 
row, the  goldfinch,  the  yellow  warbler, 
the  wren,  and  the  robin.  I  grewr  to  know 
the  birds  by  their  songs.  One  day  I 
wrote  of  the  bird  : 

Ah,  now  thou  art  happy  again,  my  bird, 
And  thy  voice  rings  out  so  clear, 

That  the  robin,  the  wren,  and  the  bluebird,  too, 
Are  coming  its  trill  to  hear. 

"  Grandma  was  also  my  teacher  in 
flowers.  Flowers  always  had  a  charm 
for  me.  I  loved  to  handle  them,  and  I 
revelled  in  their  fragrance.  She  told  me 
of  the  apple,  cherry  and  peach  blossoms. 
She  described  the  pansy,  the  peony,  the 
sweet  pea,  the  scarlet  poppy,  the  prim- 


32    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

\ 

rose,  and  roses,  pink,  red,  white,  and  yeL 
low.  Often  we  went  down  to  the  brook 
together  to  gather  violets.  The  violet 
with  its  fragrance  and  its  modesty  is  my 
favourite  flower.  I  once  wrote  a  poem 
on  seeking  violets.     Here  is  part  of  it : 

Roaming  all  day  in  the  meadow  so  green, 
Seeking  for  violets,  thou  art,  my  queen, 
Where  have  you  hid  them  ?     Down  deep  in 

your  heart  ? 
Why  are   you   blushing?     And  why  do  you 

start  ? 
Seeking  for  violets  ?     When  do  they  grow  ? 
Think  you  to  find  them  in  summer?     No,  no; 
Not  such  a  thought  ever  entered  your  head, 
Nor  is  there  truth  in  a  word  you  have  said. 

"  Often  in  the  fall  season  Grandma 
Cook  me  for  walks  over  the  hills  and 
through  the  lanes,  telling  me  the  story  of 
the  trees  and  their  leaves.  I  knew  the 
trees  by  the  sense  of  touch  and  by  their 
fragrance,  and  the  leaves  by  handling 
and  remembering.  I  often  gathered  the 
autumn  leaves  and  played  with  them.   In 


Childhood  33 


after  years  I  wrote  some  verses  entitled, 
4  Only  a  Leaf.' 

'Tis  only  a  leaf,  a  withered  leaf, 

But  its  story  is  fraught  with  pain ; 

'Twas  the  gift  of  one  who  is  far  away, 
And  will  never  come  back  again. 

"It  was  Grandma  who  brought  the 
Bible  to  me,  and  me  to  the  Bible.  The 
stories  of  the  Holy  Book  came  from  her 
lips  and  entered  my  heart  and  took  deep 
root  there.  When  the  evening  shadows 
fell,  Grandma  would  take  me  alone,  and 
rocking  me  in  her  old  chair,  tell  me  of  a 
kind  heavenly  Father,  who  sent  His  only 
son  Jesus  Christ  down  into  this  world  to 
be  a  Saviour  and  a  Friend  to  all  man- 
kind. Then  she  taught  me  to  kneel  in 
prayer  and  often  I  bowed  my  weary  little 
head  and  sightless  eyes  in  Grandma's  lap, 
and  fell  asleep. 

"  Years  ago  I  dedicated  a  few  verses 
to   the   memory  of   Grandma's  rocking- 


34    Fanny  Crosby  fs  Own  Story 

chair  and  I  often  repeat  them  wherever  I 
have  an  opportunity  to  speak  in  public : 

I  am  thinking  of  a  cottage, 
On  a  quiet  rural  dell, 
And  a  brook  that  ran  beside  it, 
That  I  used  to  love  so  well. 
I  have  sat  for  hours  and  listened, 
While  it  rippled  at  my  feet, 
And  I  thought  no  other  music 
In  the  world  was  half  so  sweet." 

Here  Aunt  Fanny  said,  "  I  wish  you 
would  bring  me  the  Bible.  I  want  you 
to  read  the  thirty-second  and  thirty- 
third  chapters  of  the  book  of  Deute' 
ronomy."  I  read  them  to  her  as  her  face 
gleamed  with  the  very  sunshine  of  God. 
Clapping  her  hands  together  she  said, 
"  I  look  upon  these  as  my  favourite 
chapters  in  the  Old  Testament.  Where 
in  all  literature  can  we  find  such  expres- 
sions of  beauty  and  vitality  ?  This  Holy 
Book  nurtured  my  early  life.  When  a 
girl  I  could  repeat  from  memory  the  five 


Childhood  35 


books  of  Moses,  most  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment, many  of  the  Psalms,  the  Proverbs 
of  Solomon,  the  Book  of  Ruth,  and  that 
greatest  of  all  prose  poems,  the  Songs  of 
Solomon.  Most  of  my  early  poetry  was 
built  up  on  subjects  taken  from  the  Bible, 
such  as  :  *  The  Trial  of  Abraham's  Faith/ 

*  The    Meeting    of    Jacob    and   Joseph/ 

*  Samson  and  the  Philistines.'  The  New 
Testament  gave  me  many  subjects  of 
great  value  for  poems.  To-day  I  love  the 
dear  Old  Book,  that  I  have  tested  and 
tried,  more  than  ever.  *  The  statutes  of 
the  Lord  are  right.'  I  have  proved  them. 
Through  all  my  years  they  have  always 
been  '  Yea/  and  '  Amen.'  You  know  that 
to  one  like  myself  shut  in  from  much  that 
those  blessed  with  the  sense  of  seeing  en- 
joy, God's  Holy  Word  has  been,  and  is, 
doubly  precious.  On  it  I  have  rested 
right  through  the  years.  On  it  I  rest 
now ;  and  whether  my  years  on  earth  be 
few  or  many,  I  shall  rest  on  it  to  the  end. 


36    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

I  wrote  a  little  poem  for  Mr.  I.  Allan 
Sankey  not  so  long  since,  which  relates 
my  love  for  the  Bible  : 

O  Book,  that  with  rev'rence  I  honour, 
What  joy  in  thy  pages  I  see  ! 

O  Book  of  my  childhood  devotion, 

More  precious  than  rubies  to  me." 

The  birch  logs  in  the  open  fireplace 
had  by  this  time  burned  to  ashes,  and 
little  shimmering  mounds  lit  up  with  fire 
opals  were  flinging  their  glow  over  their 
beds  of  silver,  as  Aunt  Fanny  and  I 
parted  for  the  night. 


Ill 

Growing  Into  Womanhood 


Hold  Thou  my  hand ;  so  weak  am  I,  and  helpless, 
I  dare  not  take  one  step  without  Thy  aid ; 

Hold  Thou  my  hand ;  for  then,  O  loving  Saviour, 
No  dread  of  ill  shall  make  my  soul  afraid. 

Hold  Thou  my  hand,  and  closer,  closer,  draw  me 
To  Thy  dear  self — my  hope,  my  joy,  my  all ; 

Hold  Thou  my  hand,  lest  haply  I  should  wander, 
And  missing  Thee,  my  trembling  feet  should  fall. 

Hold  Thou  my  hand ;  the  way  is  dark  before  me 
Without  the  sunlight  of  Thy  face  divine ; 

But  when  by  faith  I  catch  its  radiant  glory, 
What  heights  of  joy,  what  rapturous  songs,  are 
mine. 

Hold  Thou  my  hand,  that,  when  I  reach  the 
margin 

Of  that  lone  river  Thou  didst  cross  for  me, 
A  heavenly  light  may  flash  along  its  waters, 

And  every  wave  like  crystal  bright  shall  be. 

[  1874  ] 


Ill 

GROWING  INTO  WOMANHOOD 

u  Friendship,  peculiar  boon  of  heaven, 
The  noble  mind's  delight  and  pride, 
To  men  and  angels  only  given, 
To  all  the  lower  world  denied." 

"  A  UNT  FANNY>" l  said» " l  want 

/-A     you   to  take  up  the  thread  of 
your  life-story  just  where  you 
left  it  last  spring." 

"  Well,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  ready." 
It  was  the  fall  of  the  year  and  Aunt 
Fanny  was  again  at  our  fireside.  On  the 
Sabbath  she  had  thrilled  the  hearts  of 
hundreds  of  people  with  her  message. 
On  Monday  afternoon  I  took  her  for  a 
long  auto  ride  in  the  country,  with  the 
understanding  that  we  were  to  spend  the 
evening  together  in  the  study.  I  took 
the  little  rocking-chair,  which  we  always 
kept  for  her,  to  the  study  and  as  she  en- 
39 


40    Fanny  Crosby  ls  Own  Story 

tered  I  described  to  her  the  pictures  that 
hung  on  the  walls.  They  were  of  Tenny- 
son, of  Browning,  and  Carlyle,  of  New- 
man, Ruskin,  Lincoln.  As  she  sat  down 
I  told  her  that  just  over  her  head  was 
Hoffman's  picture  of  Christ,  and  in  front 
of  her  the  faces  of  Florence  Nightingale, 
Harriet  Beecher  Stowe,  Julia  Ward  Howe, 
and  Jenny  Lind.  "  Have  you  Jenny 
Lind's  picture  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  heard  her 
sing ;  I  will  tell  you  about  her  later." 

Aunt  Fanny  seemed  to  be  as  one  in- 
spired when  she  realized  that  she  was  sur- 
rounded by  so  many  faces  of  those  whose 
lives  and  works  she  knew  so  well. 

After  a  little  while  she  said  :  "  Now,  we 
will  go  on  with  my  story.  When  I  was 
about  nine  years  of  age  we  went  to  live 
at  Ridgefield,  Connecticut.  Here  we 
spent  six  most  beautiful  and  beneficial 
years.  It  was  here  that  I  first  met  Syl- 
vester Main,  father  of  Hubert  P.  Main, 
who  in  after  life  became  one  of  my  most 


Growing  Into  Womanhood   41 

precious  friends.  At  the  age  of  fifteen 
I  entered  the  Institution  for  the  Blind 
in  New  York  City,  where  I  remained  as 
a  pupil  for  twelve  years,  improving  my 
opportunities  and  stocking  my  mind 
with  useful  knowledge.  At  the  Institu- 
tion I  made  a  careful  study  of  the  poetry 
of  Thomas  Moore,  Horatius  Bonar,  James 
Montgomery,  Longfellow,  Tennyson,  Bry- 
ant, Whittier,  Willis,  Wesley,  Morris  and 
many  others.  Here  also  I  wrote  many 
poems,  unknown  to  my  teachers.  One 
long  poem  on  the  poets,  however,  was 
praised  by  my  friends.     It  concludes, 

You  from  whose  garners  I  have  gleaned 
Such  precious  fruit,  the  task  has  seemed 
So  pleasant  that  my  humble  pen 
Would  fain  resume  its  work  again  ; 
In  your  bright  realms  'twere  bliss  to  stay ; 
But  time  forbids,  and  I  obey. 

"While  in  this  Institution  I  was  often 
taken  to  churches  and  schools  to  show 
what  the  blind  were  capable  of  doing. 


42    Fanny  Crosby  's  Own  Story 

Well  do  I  remember  our  visiting  Congress 
in  the  autumn  of  1843  when  I  recited 
a  number  of  my  poems,  which  were  well 
received.  They  told  me  that  stalwart 
men  were  moved  to  tears  when  in  one 
of  my  poems  I  reached  the  words : 

O  ye  who  here  from  every  state  convene, 
Illustrious  band,  may  we  not  hope  the  scene 
That  you  behold  will  prove  to  every  mind 
Instruction  hath  a  ray  to  cheer  the  blind. 

"  On  returning  from  such  visits  a  deeper 
inner  longing  awoke  within  my  breast 
for  the  crystal  streams  of  literature  and 
the  friendship  of  faithful  souls.  I  wanted 
to  go  with  the  gallant,  to  sit  with  the 
sincere,  to  associate  with  those  who,  like 
myself,  were  winning  their  way,  in  the 
face  of  the  fiercest  foes,  seeking  a  truer 
meaning  to  life.  A  great  life  was  a  won- 
derful inspiration  to  me.  Whenever  an 
opportunity  came  to  meet  noted  states- 
men, masterful  musicians,  literary  lead- 
ers and  artistic  mortals,  I  always  availed 


Growing  Into  Womanhood   43 

myself  of  it.  I  craved  for  them  as  the 
heart  panteth  for  the  water-brooks. 

"  To  know  and  make  friends  with  the 
builders  of  this  nation  was  a  desire  of  my 
growing  womanhood.  Just  think,  I  have 
lived  during  the  lifetime  of  all  the  Presi- 
dents of  the  United  States,  Washington 
excepted.  Ex- President  John  Adams  was 
called  to  rest  in  the  year  1826.  I  was 
then  just  six  years  old. 

"  When  in  Washington  I  listened  with 
untold  pleasure  to  John  Quincy  Adams, 
the  sixth  President  of  the  Republic.  I 
admired  his  firmness,  intelligence  and 
integrity.  He  had  a  warm  corner  in  my 
heart.  I  was  also  a  true  lover  and  sup- 
porter of  Andrew  Jackson-  He  was  a 
man  of  principle  and  fought  for  his  na- 
tion and  not  his  position.  He  was  a  big 
man,  and  I  honoured  him  and  used  all 
the  influence  I  possessed  in  his  favour. 
Though  we  never  met  face  to  face,  he 
knew  my  strong  feelings   towards  him. 


44    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

President  VanBuren  I  met,  talked  with, 
supped  with  and  hailed  as  the  '  Little 
Magician.'  Down  to  his  dying  day  he 
was  one  of  my  closest  friends.  President 
William  Henry  Harrison,  who  remained 
in  office  only  one  month,  I  revered.  I 
was  glad  to  sing  his  deeds  and  herald 
his  virtues  in  song : 

The  forest  with  his  praises  rung, 
His  fame  was  echoed  far  and  wide, 

With  loud  hurrah  his  name  was  sung, 
Columbia's  hero  and  her  pride. 

The  tuneful  harp  is  now  unstrung, 

And  on  the  drooping  willow  hung. 

"When  President  John  Tyler  visited 
the  Institution  for  the  Blind  in  New  York 
City,  I  was  asked  to  write  a  poem  of 
welcome  and  recite  it  for  him.  I  did  my 
very  best  and  when  I  concluded  with  the 
words 

And  the  glad  song  of  our  nation  shall  be, 
Hurrah  for  John  Tyler  and  liberty  tree, 

the  people  clapped  their  hands  and  gave 


Growing  Into  Womanhood   45 

me  such  an  ovation  that  I  shall  never 
forget  his  visit.  President  James  Knox 
Polk  was  my  intimate  personal  friend.  I 
recited  for  him  at  the  White  House,  and 
he  became  unusually  interested  in  me. 
In  the  year  1848  President  Polk  visited 
the  Institution  for  the  Blind  and  I  had  the 
honour  of  dining  with  him.  Then  he  took 
my  arm,  and  we  went  out  under  the  lofty 
trees  and  through  the  grounds  where  we 
conversed  together  and  listened  to  thi, 
bluebirds  and  robins.  For  a  simple  kind- 
ness which  I  showed  to  a  domestic  the 
President  said,  '  You  have  done  well ;  I 
commend  you  for  it.  Kindness  to  those 
in  the  humblest  capacity  of  life  should 
be  our  rule  of  conduct.  By  this  act  you 
have  won,  not  only  my  respect,  but  my 
esteem.'  On  leaving  him  I  went  to  my 
room  feeling  as  happy  as  a  bird  in  spring 
time  that  I  had  communed  with  a  great 
scholar  and  statesman.  That  night,  ere 
sleep   closed   my  eyelids,    I   breathed   a 


46    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

petition  to  our  merciful  Father  to  cause 
His  face  to  shine  upon  my  friend  Presi- 
dent Polk. 

"One  of  the  most  sympathetic  and 
dramatic  scenes  through  which  I  passed 
during  my  stay  at  the  Institution,  was 
when  Henry  Clay  came  to  visit  us.  I 
knew  the  struggle  of  his  early  boyhood, 
and  the  story  of  his  conquest  over  diffi- 
culties was  an  inspiration  to  my  life.  I 
was  chosen  to  recite  a  poem  of  welcome 
in  his  honour.  After  I  had  rendered  it, 
he  came  and  took  me  by  the  hand  and 
said  to  the  audience,  ■  This  is  not  the  only 
poem  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  this 
lady.  Six  months  ago  she  sent  me  some 
lines  on  the  death  of  my  dear  son.'  Here 
both  Henry  Clay  and  myself  broke  down 
and  wept. 

"  I  have  been  greatly  interested  in  all 
our  Presidents,  but,  to  me,  Lincoln  towers 
above  the  rest  like  a  lofty  cedar,  and  his 
name   will    never    be  effaced   from   the 


Growing  Into  Womanhood   47 

annals  of  the  world's  history.  In  reading 
carefully  the  history  of  great  men,  Abra- 
ham Lincoln  is  my  captain  and  leader. 
Grant,  Hayes,  and  Garfield  have  a  secure 
place  in  my  memory  and  a  warm  spot  in 
my  heart,  but  it  was  with  Grover  Cleve- 
land that  I  was  brought  into  closer  touch 
than  with  any  other  of  the  Presidents. 
He  was  secretary  to  the  Institution  for 
the  Blind  and  I  often  went  to  him  with 
my  heartaches,  and  he  always  proved  a 
sympathetic  friend.  He  copied  for  me 
very  many  of  my  poems.  Through  all 
the  years  he  knew  me  he  took  an  interest 
in  my  life  and  work.  I  have  visited  him 
at  his  home  in  Lakewood  and  at  Prince- 
ton. A  few  years  ago  he  wrote  me  a 
letter  of  which  I  will  send  you  a  copy." 

[This  is  the  letter  :] 

"  My  Dear  Friend  : 

"It  is  more  than  fifty  years  ago 
that  our  acquaintance  and  friendship 
began  ;  and  ever  since  that  time  I  have 


48    Fanny  Crosby  *s  Own  Story 


watched  your  continuous  and  disin- 
terested labour  in  uplifting  humanity,  and 
pointing  out  the  way  to  an  appreciation 
of  God's  goodness  and  mercy. 

11  Though  those  labours  have,  I  know, 
brought  you  abundant  rewards  in  your 
consciousness  of  good  accomplished, 
those  who  have  known  of  your  works  and 
sympathized  with  your  noble  purposes 
owe  it  to  themselves  that  you  are  apprized 
of  their  remembrance  of  these  things.  I 
am,  therefore,  exceedingly  gratified  to 
learn  that  your  eighty-fifth  birthday  is  to 
be  celebrated  with  demonstration  of  this 
remembrance.  As  one  proud  to  call  you 
an  old  friend,  I  desire  to  be  early  in  con- 
gratulating you  on  your  long  life  of  use- 
fulness, and  wishing  you  in  the  years  yet 
to  be  added  to  you  the  peace  and  comfort 
born  of  the  love  of  God. 

"Yours  very  sincerely, 
"  Grover  Cleveland." 


The  clock  in  the  church  tower  was 
striking  eleven  as  my  wife  brought  in  a 
cup  of  tea  for  Aunt  Fanny.  She  drank  it 
and  added  as  she  wished  me  good-night, 
"  To-morrow  I  will  tell  you  a  little  love 
story." 


IV 

A  Little  Love  Story 


'Tis  only  a  leaf,  a  withered  leaf, 

But  its  story  is  fraught  with  pain ; 
'Twas  the  gift  of  one  who  is  far  away 

And  will  never  return  again  ; 
'Tis  only  a  leaf,  a  withered  leaf 

And  yet  I  prize  it  so, 
For  it  brings  to  my  mem'ry  the  brightest  hour 

I  ever  on  earth  shall  know. 

'Tis  only  a  leaf,  a  withered  leaf, 

But  its  story  is  fraught  with  pain ; 
'Twas  the  gift  of  one  who  is  far  away 

And  will  never  return  again  ; 
He  will  never  return ;  but  I  feel  ere  long 

My  spirit  with  his  will  be, 
And  the  old-time  love  shall  be  sweeter  there 

Where  I  know  that  he  waits  for  me. 


IV 
A  LITTLE  LOVE  STORY 

"  Music,  religious  heat  inspires, 
It  wakes  the  soul  and  lifts  it  high, 
And  wings  it  with  sublime  desires, 
And  fits  it  to  bespeak  the  Deity." 

44  A  UNT  FANNY> l  hoPe  y°u  are 

r-\     not   too   tired   after   so  long  a 
ride  to   tell  me  the  story  you 
promised  last  night  ?  " 

It  had  been  a  charming  Indian  summer 
day,  and  Aunt  Fanny  had  been  taken 
for  an  auto  ride  through  New  Brunswick 
and  Princeton.  When  told  in  the  morn- 
ing of  the  proposed  trip  she  jumped  up 
and  danced  around  the  room  in  rare 
delight.  She  truly  loved  an  auto  ride  at 
any  time,  but  what  filled  her  heart  witk 
special  glee  was  the  fact  that  she  was  to 
visit  two  college  towns  where  she  had  so 
many  faithful  friends. 
5i 


52    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

We  had  spent  a  glorious  day,  and 
were  back  at  the  manse.  Aunt  Fanny  sat 
rocking  in  her  little  armchair,  her  knit- 
ting needle  and  cotton  in  her  lap  ready  to 
begin  a  wash-rag  for  the  lady  of  the  house. 

She  plied  her  needles  for  a  little  while 
after  I  put  my  question  and  then  with  a 
smile  began : 

"  When  they  told  me  at  the  Institution 
for  the  Blind  that  William  Cullen  Bryant 
was  coming  to  address  the  students  and 
teachers,  sweet  music  filled  my  soul ;  for 
I  had  read  most  of  his  poems  and  knew 
many  of  them  by  heart.  He  had  been 
kind  enough  to  read  several  of  my  poems 
and  had  written  me  encouraging  me  to 
continue  writing  verse.  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  much  Bryant's  words  helped  me  when 
I  felt  disheartened  or  discouraged.  He 
knew  the  secret  of  the  art  of  a  kind  word. 
I  too  have  made  it  a  point  in  my  life  to 
help  as  far  as  it  lay  in  my  power  those 
who  were  struggling  to  reach  the  summit. 


A  Little  Love  Story      53 

"  Right  from  the  time  when  I  first 
heard  of  P.  T.  Barnum  I  was  very  much 
interested  in  the  man,  and  when  I  read 
that  he  was  to  bring  Jenny  Lind,  the 
Swedish  nightingale,  to  this  country  I 
became  feverish  to  hear  her.  Words 
cannot  express  my  feelings  when  the 
superintendent  announced  that  Jenny 
Lind  was  to  sing  before  the  students  and 
faculty  of  the  Institution  for  the  Blind. 
My  heart  was  like  an  overflowing  cup, 
my  joy  a  living  fountain,  my  body  light 
as  a  feather.  That  morning  I  was  un- 
able to  eat  any  breakfast.  Jenny  Lind 
was  to  sing,  and  I  to  recite  my  poem, 
1  The  Swedish  Nightingale.'  I  felt  her 
presence  as  she  came  on  the  platform  and 
as  I  rose  to  speak  I  felt  her  influence  all 
about  me.     I  concluded  my  poem  with 

Yet,  Sweden's  daughter,  thou  shalt  live 

In  every  grateful  heart ; 
And  may  the  choicest  gifts  of  heaven 

Be  thine,  where'er  thou  art. 


54    Fanny  Crosby  V  Own  Story 

"  I  have  heard  many  of  the  world's 
greatest  singers  but  no  other  has  made 
such  a  lasting  impression  upon  my  mind 
as  Jenny  Lind  singing,  '  Home,  Home, 
Sweet,  Sweet  Home.' 

"  In  this  connection  I  must  tell  you  of 
my  visit  to,  and  friendship  with,  Ole 
Bull.  He  was  ten  years  my  senior,  and 
born  in  Bergen,  Norway.  Having  heard 
a  great  deal  about  his  wonderful  playing 
on  the  violin,  I,  like  other  girls,  was  wild 
to  hear  him  play.  When  it  was  an- 
nounced that  Ole  Bull  was  to  pay  us  a 
visit,  you  can  just  imagine  how  I  felt.  I 
can  weep  over  it  even  now.  It  seemed 
as  though  I  literally  saw  him,  as  he  drew 
his  bow  over  the  strings  of  his  violin. 
The  birds  sang,  the  brooks  rippled,  the 
rain  fell,  the  thunder  roared,  the  sun- 
beams danced,  the  bells  pealed,  the 
angels  sang.  We  were  all  enchanted. 
Burning  tears  of  joy  coursed  down  my 
cheeks  and  a  light  celestial  threw  its  halo 


A  Liit tie  Love  Story      55 

over  my  brow.  When  I  grasped  the 
hand  of  Ole  Bull  I  felt  as  if  I  were  touch- 
ing one  from  another  world.  We  sat 
down  together.  He  talked  with  me  and 
his  words  charmed  and  cheered  me.  He 
gave  me  a  clearer  vision  of  life  and  love 
than  I  had  ever  conceived,  and  his  music 
has  made  my  own  songs  more  sweet, 
more  divine. 

"  Now  for  my  little  love  story.  Some 
people  seem  to  forget  that  blind  girls 
have  just  as  great  a  faculty  for  loving 
and  do  love  just  as  much  and  just  as 
truly  as  those  who  have  their  sight.  I 
had  a  heart  that  was  hungry  for  love. 
When  I  was  about  twenty  a  gifted  young 
man  by  the  name  of  Alexander  Van 
Alstyne  came  to  our  Institution.  He 
also  was  blind,  and  a  most  talented 
student.  He  was  fond  of  classic  litera- 
ture and  theological  lore,  but  made 
music  a  specialty.  After  hearing  several 
of  my  poems  he  became  deeply  interested 


56    Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

in  my  work ;  and  I  after  listening  to  his 
sweet  strains  of  music  became  interested 
in  him.  Thus  we  soon  grew  to  be  very 
much  concerned  for  each  other.  One 
day  in  June  he  went  out  under  the  elm 
trees  to  listen  to  the  birds  sing,  and  the 
winds  play  their  love-song  among  the 
leaves.  It  was  here  the  voice  of  love 
spoke  within  his  breast.  Listening,  he 
heard  its  voice  of  music  trilling  its  notes 
to  his  heart.  Just  then  another  to  whom 
the  voice  was  calling  came  towards  the 
spot  where  he  was  musing.  I  placed 
my  right  hand  on  his  left  and  called  him 
1  Van.'  Then  it  was  that  two  happy 
lovers  sat  in  silence  while  the  sunbeams 
danced  around  their  heads,  and  the 
golden  curtains  of  day  drew  in  their 
light.  *  Van '  took  up  the  harp  of  love, 
and  drawing  his  fingers  over  the  golden 
chords,  sang  to  me  the  song  of  a  true 
lover's  heart.  From  that  hour  two  lives 
looked  on  a  new  universe,  for  love  met 


A  Little  Love  Story      57 

love,  and  all  the  world  was  changed. 
We  were  no  longer  blind,  for  the  light  of 
love  showed  us  where  the  lilies  bloomed, 
and  where  the  crystal  waters  find  the 
moss-mantled  spring. 

"On  March  the  fifth  in  the  year  1858 
we  were  united  in  marriage.  Now  I  am 
going  to  tell  you  of  something  that  only 
my  closest  friends  know.  I  became  a 
mother  and  knew  a  mother's  love.  God 
gave  us  a  tender  babe  but  the  angels 
came  down  and  took  our  infant  up  to 
God  and  to  His  throne, 

"  Van  went  home  to  his  Father's  house 
in  the  year  1902.  During  my  stay  as  a 
teacher  in  the  Institution  for  the  Blind 
I  touched  the  poetic  garment  of  Mrs. 
Sigourney,  sat  long  at  the  feet  of  Bayard 
Taylor,  slaked  my  thirsty  soul  at  the  liv- 
ing streams  of  Frances  Ridley  Havergal, 
and  drank  deeply  from  the  chalices  of 
Longfellow,  Whittier,  Holmes,  and  Low- 
ell.    During  these  years  I  heard  the  best 


58    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

in  music  and  read  the  purest  in  poetry 
and  prose.  This  has  of  course  helped 
me  in  my  own  work.  From  the  master 
singers  of  my  own  country  I  have  gath- 
ered inspiration  for  my  own  writing,  and 
whatever  my  hymns  have  helped  to  do  in 
the  world  has  been  much  stimulated  by 
my  having  sat  at  the  feet  of  the  great 
ones  in  the  temple  of  song0" 

The  hour  had  now  grown  late  and  I 
saw  that  Aunt  Fanny  had  grown  tired, 
and  that  the  hour  for  retirement  was 
near.  With  her  usual  cup  of  tea  she 
went  to  her  room,  promising  on  the  mor- 
row to  relate  the  story  of  how  she  became 
a  writer  of  sacred  songs. 


V 

How  I  Became  a  Hymn- Writer 


We  are  going,  we  are  going 

To  a  home  beyond  the  skies, 
Where  the  fields  are  robed  in  beauty. 

And  the  sunlight  never  dies ; 
Where  the  fount  of  life  is  flowing 

In  the  valley  green  and  fair, 
We  shall  dwell  in  love  together ; 

There  will  be  no  parting  there. 

We  are  going,  we  are  going, 

And  the  music  we  have  heard 
Like  the  echo  of  the  woodland, 

Or  the  carol  of  a  bird ; 
With  the  rosy  light  of  morning, 

On  the  calm  and  fragrant  air, 
Still  it  murmurs,  softly  murmurs, 

There  will  be  no  parting  there. 

We  are  going,  we  are  going, 

When  the  day  of  life  is  o'er, 
To  the  pure  and  happy  region 

Where  our  friends  have  gone  before; 
They  are  singing  with  the  angels 

In  that  land  so  bright  and  fair ; 
We  shall  dwell  with  them  forever ; 

There  will  be  no  parting  there. 

[186 % — Fanny  Crosby's  first  hymn.'] 


V 
HOW  I  BECAME  A  HYMN-WRITER 

"  Such  songs  have  power  to  quiet 
The  restless  pulse  of  care, 
And  come  like  the  benediction 
That  follows  after  prayer." 

"  "W  "T  ERY  early  in  life  I  began  to 
\f  write  bits  of  verse,"  said  Aunt 
Fanny.  We  sat  together,  the 
blind  singer  and  I,  just  as  the  evening 
bells  were  calling  to  worship,  she  relating 
the  story  of  how  she  became  a  hymn- 
writer.  "  From  my  eighth  year  I  can 
remember  little  poetic  pictures  forming 
themselves  in  my  mind.  When  I  gath- 
ered flowers  and  caught  their  fragrance 
I  wanted  to  say  something  poetic  about 
them.     When  I  heard  the  birds  sing,  I 

was  anxious  to  understand  their  notes. 
61 


62    Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

As  I  wandered  down  by  the  brook  with 
my  grandmother,  listening  to  the  rip- 
pling of  the  waters,  I  felt  something  in 
my  soul  that  I  wanted  to  say  about  the 
rivulet  and  the  river. 

"On  entering  the  Institution  for  the 
Blind  I  knew  many  poems  by  heart  and 
had  already  cultivated  a  strong  love  for 
the  poetic  art.  My  teachers  did  not  en- 
courage me  to  write  poetry ;  often  they 
would  take  from  me  my  poetic  works. 
This  grieved  my  heart.  One  day  Dr. 
Combe  of  Boston  came  to  examine  oui 
craniums.  As  he  touched  my  head,  and 
looked  into  my  face  he  remarked,  '  And 
here  is  a  poetess  ;  give  her  every  possible 
encouragement.  Read  the  best  books  to 
her,  and  teach  her  to  appreciate  the  finest 
there  is  in  poetry.  You  will  hear  from 
this  young  lady  some  day.' 

"  This  was  as  music  to  my  soul.  I 
had  waited  long  for  some  one  to  encour- 
age me  to  adhere  to  what  I  already  felt 


/  Became  a  Hymn-Writer  63 

r 

was  to  be  my  life-work — hymn-writing. 
I  had  written  a  large  number  of  secular 
and  religious  poems,  a  few  cantatas  and 
many  songs,  but  my  real  writing  of 
Christian  hymns  began  on  my  leaving 
the  Institute,  and  becoming  associated 
with  some  notable  religious  characters. 
They  have  been  everything  to  me.  Many 
of  them  have  reached  the  Golden  Strand, 
and  I  am  sure  of  meeting  and  knowing 
them  there. 

"Mr.  W.  B.  Bradbury  I  first  met  at 
425  Broome  Street,  New  York  City. 
He  asked  me  if  I  would  write  a  hymn  fc» 
him.  I  was  delighted.  I  was  hungry 
for  some  one  to  ask  me  that  question. 
In  three  days  I  returned  with  some 
verses  which  he  set  to  music  and  pub- 
lished.    This  was  my  first  hymn  : 

We  are  going,  we  are  going, 
To  a  home  beyond  the  skies, 

Where  the  fields  are  robed  in  beauty, 
And  the  sunlight  never  dies. 


64    Fanny  Crosby  }s  Own  Story 

We  are  going,  we  are  going, 
And  the  music  we  have  heard, 

Like  the  echo  of  the  woodland, 
Or  the  carol  of  the  bird. 

"  My  real  work  as  a  hymn- writer  be- 
gan from  that  hour.  I  had  found  my 
mission,  and  was  the  happiest  creature  in 
all  the  land.  Mr.  Bradbury  lightened 
many  of  my  darkest  days  and  scattered 
sunshine  over  my  hours  of  care. 

"  My  hymn  which  first  won  world-wide 
attention  was,  ■  Pass  Me  Not,  O  Gentle 
Saviour.'  Mr.  W.  H.  Doane,  who  became 
a  very  dear  friend  of  mine,  suggested  the 
subject  to  me.  It  was  written  in  the 
year  1868.  Dear  Mr.  Sankey  said,  *  No 
hymn  in  our  collection  was  more  popular 
than  this  one  at  the  meetings  in  London 
in  1874.  It  was  sung  at  almost  every 
service,  in  Her  Majesty's  Theatre,  Pall 
Mall.'  This  hymn  has  been  translated 
into  many  foreign  languages,  and  remains 
a  favourite  wherever  the  English  tongue 


Fanny  Crosby  as  she  was  in  1872 


/  Became  a  Hymn-Writer  65 

is  spoken.  Mr.  Doane  did  very  much  to 
bring  my  songs  to  the  front.  One  day 
he  came  to  me  and  said,  '  Fanny,  I  have 
a  tune  I  would  like  to  have  you  write 
words  for.'  He  played  it  over  and  I  ex- 
claimed, *  That  says,  Safe  in  the  Arms  of 
Jesus.'  I  went  to  my  room,  and  in  about 
thirty  minutes  I  returned  with  the  hymn 
that  has  since  been  a  comfort  and  a  solace 
to  many  heavy,  sorrowing  hearts. 

Safe  in  the  arms  of  Jesus, 

Safe  on  His  gentle  breast, 
There  by  His  love  o'ershaded, 

Sweetly  ray  soul  shall  rest. 
Hark,  'tis  the  voice  of  angels, 

Borne  in  a  song  to  me, 
Over  the  fields  of  glory, 

Over  the  jasper  sea. 

"  Dr.  John  Hall,  in  his  day  the  famous 
pastor  of  Fifth  Avenue  Presbyterian 
Church,  New  York,  once  told  me  that 
1  Safe  in  the  Arms  of  Jesus '  gave  more 
peace  and  satisfaction  to  mothers,   who 


66    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

had  lost  their  children,  than  any  other 
hymn  he  had  ever  known.  It  has  be- 
come famous  throughout  the  world  and 
was  one  of  the  first  of  American  hymns  to 
be  translated  into  foreign  languages. 

"  Among  my  first  and  foremost  friends, 
—one  whose  memory  to  me  is  as  oint- 
nent  poured  forth — was  Sylvester  Main, 
of  the  firm  of  Biglow  and  Main.  He  be- 
came interested  in  me  when  a  girl  in 
Ridgefield,  Connecticut.  He  was  my 
faithful  counsellor  and  guide.  His  son, 
Hubert  P.  Main,  has  always  been  as  a 
brother  to  me,  and  I  have  known  him  for 
a  half-century.  He  wrote  the  music  for 
my  words : 

On  the  banks  beyond  the  river 
We  shall  meet  no  more  to  sever ; 
In  the  bright,  the  bright  forever, 
In  the  summer-land  of  song. 

"  Theodore  E.  Perkins,  Philip  Phillips, 
Dr.  Robert  Lowry,  Dr.  Van  Meter,  P.  P. 


/  Became  a  Hymn-Writer  67 

Bliss,  James  M.  McGranahan,  Mrs. 
Joseph  F«  Knapp — all  these  I  knew. 
But  no  names  are  so  sacred  to  me  as 
those  of  D wight  L.  Moody,  Ira  D.  Sankey, 
George  C.  Stebbins,  and  William  H. 
Doane.  This  nation  has  not  produced  a 
company  of  stronger  men,  nor  any  who 
have  worked  harder  for  the  betterment  of 
mankind.  I  must  say  a  few  words  about 
dear  Mr.  Moody,  for  he  meant  so  much 
to  me.  I  never  knew  or  found  a  kinder, 
bigger-hearted  man.  I  look  upon  his  life 
as  simply  wonderful.  He  was  the  big- 
gest piece  of  humanity  this  nation  has 
yet  produced. 

"Then  there  was  my  never-failing 
friend,  Ira  D.  Sankey.  I  could  give  you 
a  whole  bookful  about  him.  I  was  with 
him  so  much.  He  put  new  life  into 
many  of  my  songs.  I  revere  his  mem- 
ory. The  last  time  I  visited  him  in  his 
home  in  Brooklyn  we  went  over  togethet 
the  manifold  mercies  of  our  God.     It  was 


68    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

really  pathetic  to  know  that  that  stalwart 
man  was  lying  on  his  bed — sightless. 
We  wept  and  sang  and  prayed  together. 
He  never  expected  to  cross  over  the 
river  before  Aunt  Fanny,  so  on  one  oc- 
casion he  wrote  me  a  beautiful  letter 
saying :  *  I  wish  that  when  you  get  to 
heaven  (as  you  may  before  I  shall)  that 
you  will  watch  for  me  at  the  pearly  gate 
at  the  eastern  side  of  the  city  ;  and  when 
I  get  there  I'll  take  you  by  the  hand  and 
lead  you  along  the  golden  street,  up  to 
the  throne  of  God,  and  there  we'll  stand 
before  the  Lamb,  and  say  to  Him :  "  And 
now  we  see  Thee  face  to  face,  saved  by 
Thy  matchless,  boundless  grace,  and  we 
are  satisfied."  p 

"  One  of  my  most  devoted  and  precious 
friends  is  George  C.  Stebbins.  He  gave 
wings  to  my  poem  ■  Saved  by  Grace.'  If 
ever  there  was  a  man  of  high  honour  and 
culture  of  character,  it  is  Mr.  Stebbins. 
He  has  filled  up  every  nook  of  my  life 


/  Became  a  Hymn-Writer  69 

with  his  goodness.  I  was  seventy-one 
years  of  age  when  I  wrote  '  Saved  by 
Grace.'  I  sent  it  to  The  Biglow  & 
Main  Co.  They  paid  me  for  it,  and 
placed  it  in  their  safe  with  hundreds  of 
other  hymns.  Three  years  after  I  was 
visiting  Mr.  Sankey  at  East  Northfield, 
Mass.,  while  attending  the  summer  con- 
ferences. One  evening  Mr.  Sankey  asked 
me  to  give  a  short  address.  I  tried  to 
excuse  myself,  as  I  did  not  feel  prepared 
to  speak  before  so  many  notables.  Mr. 
Sankey,  however,  would  not  take  ■  no ' 
for  an  answer.  So  I  did  as  he  requested, 
and  there  must  have  been  a  Providence 
in  it  after  all,  for  I  closed  my  remarks 
with  the  words  of  my  hymn : 

Some  day  the  silver  cord  will  break, 
And  I  no  more  as  now  shall  sing ; 

But,  O,  the  joy  when  I  shall  wake 
Within  the  palace  of  the  King  ! 

"When   I   had   finished    Mr.    Sankey 


70    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

turned  to  me  and  said,  '  Fanny,  where 
did  you  get  that  beautiful  hymn  ?  ' 
■  Why,  you  ought  to  know,'  I  replied  ; 
4 1  sold  that  song  to  you  three  years 
ago,  and  have  waited  all  this  time 
for  an  opportunity  to  recite  it'  Mr. 
Sankey  lost  no  time  in  obtaining  a 
copy  of  the  song  and  requested  Mr. 
Stebbins  to  set  it  to  music,  which  he  did, 
with  the  result  that  'Saved  by  Grace* 
has  become  one  of  my  most  popular  and 
useful  hymns. 

"  Mr.  Sankey' s  son,  Ira  Allan  Sankey, 
now  president  of  The  Biglow  &  Main 
Co.,  has  taken  his  sainted  father's  place, 
and  has  written  some  very  impressive 
music  for  some  of  my  songs.  I  was  at 
a  certain  church  a  little  while  ago,  and 
heard  the  soloist  sing  *  Grandma's  Rock- 
ing Chair,'  set  to  music  by  I.  Allan 
Sankey,  and  I  really  thought  the  son 
had  surpassed  the  father  in  sweetness  of 
tone   and   harmony   of   expression.     On 


/  Became  a  Hymn-Writer  71 

the  same  evening  the  congregation  sang 
my  hymn,  '  Never  Give  Up '  (music  by 
the  same  composer),  and  I  was  delighted 
with  the  work  of  the  son  of  the  man  who 
made  'The  Ninety  and  Nine'  famous. 
To  this  day  I  can  hear  the  strains  as  the 
people  sang  my  words  that  night  : 


Never  be  sad  or  desponding 
If  thou  hast  faith  to  believe ; 

Grace,  for  the  duties  before  thee, 
Ask  of  thy  God  and  receive. 

Never  give  up,  never  give  up, 
Never  give  up  to  thy  sorrows, 

Jesus  will  bid  them  depart. 
Trust  in  the  Lord,  trust  in  the  Lord, 
Sing  when  your  trials  are  greatest, 

Trust  in  the  Lord  and  take  heart. 


"  There  is  a  great  and  wonderful  truth 
embodied  in  these  words.  The  whole 
victory  of  life  is  in  them — '  Trust  in  the 
Lord  and  take  heart.'  That  means  the 
exercise  of  courage,  the  consciousness  of 


72    Fanny  Crosby  9s  Own  Story 

being  linked  to  One  mightier  than  our- 
selves, and  it  helps  one  to  keep  smiling, 
to  keep  sunshiny,  and  to  have,  not  only 
a  song  on  the  lip,  but  one  in  the  heart." 


VI 

My  Living  Hymns 


Rescue  the  Perishing 


Rescue  the  perishing, 

Care  for  the  dying, 
Snatch  them  in  pity  from  sin  and  the  grave ; 

Weep  o'er  the  erring  one, 

Lift  up  the  fallen, 
Tell  them  of  Jesus,  the  mighty  to  save. 

Rescue  the  perishing, 
Care  for  the  dying : 
Jesus  is  merciful, 
Jesus  will  save. 

Though  they  are  slighting  Him, 

Still  He  is  waiting, 
Waiting  the  penitent  child  to  receive : 

Plead  with  them  earnestly, 

Plead  with  them  gently : 
He  will  forgive  if  they  only  believe. 

Down  in  the  human  heart, 

Crushed  by  the  tempter, 
Feelings  lie  buried  that  grace  can  restore : 

Touched  by  a  loving  heart, 

Wakened  by  kindness, 
Chords  that  were  broken  will  vibrate  once  more. 

Rescue  the  perishing ; 

Duty  demands  it : 
Strength  for  thy  labour  the  Lord  will  provide : 

Back  to  the  narrow  way 

Patiently  win  them  : 
Tell  the  poor  wanderer  a  Saviour  has  died. 

[1869} 


VI 

MY  LIVING  HYMNS 

"  Such  songs  have  power  to  quiet 
The  restless  pulse  of  care, 
And  come  like  the  benediction 
That  follows  after  prayer." 

m     A     UNT  FANNY,"  I  said,  "I  wish 
/-A     you  would  tell  me  the  story  of 
■*■    ■*■  the  five  hymns  by  which  you 
are  most  widely  known." 

"Bless  your  dear  soul,"  she  replied  in 
her  usual  ready  way,  "I  shall  be  delighted 
to  do  so." 

The  immediate  cause  of  my  asking  for 
an  account  of  how  her  greatest  successes 
came  to  be  written  was  my  receiving  a 
new  hymnal  which  contained  the  names 
of  fifty- three  women  authors,  with  eighty- 
three  hymns  to  their  credit.  Frances 
Ridley  Havergal  had  written  eight 
75 


76    Fanny  Crosby  V  Own  Story 

songs  for  the  book,  Charlotte  Elliott, 
six,  Fanny  Crosby,  five.  Three  of  the 
writers  were  born  the  same  year  as  her- 
self,— Anna  L.  Waring,  who  wrote  "  In 
Heavenly  Love  Abiding,"  Anna  D. 
Warner,  known  by  "  One  More  Day's 
Work  for  Jesus,"  and  Alice  Cary.  Of 
the  rest  she  at  least  knew  the  names, 
and  in  most  cases  something  more.  We 
talked  of  many  of  these  authors  and  then 
I  put  my  question. 

"  The  first  I  must  tell  you  of  is 
1  Rescue  the  Perishing.'  It  was  written 
in  the  year  1869,  when  I  was  forty-nine 
years  old.  It  has  been  placed  among  the 
'One  Hundred  Hymns  You  Ought  to 
Know.'  Many  of  my  hymns  were  written 
after  experiences  in  New  York  mission 
work.  This  one  was  thus  written.  I 
was  addressing  a  large  company  of 
working  men  one  hot  summer  evening, 
when  the  thought  kept  forcing  itself  on 
my  mind  that  some  mother's  boy  must 


My  Living  Hymns        77 

be  rescued  that  night  or  not  at  all.  So  I 
made  a  pressing  plea  that  if  there  were  a 
boy  present  who  had  wandered  from  his 
mother's  home  and  teaching,  he  would 
come  to  me  at  the  close  of  the  service. 
A  young  man  of  eighteen  came  forward 
and  said,  '  Did  you  mean  me  ?  I  prom- 
ised my  mother  to  meet  her  in  heaven, 
but  as  I  am  now  living  that  will  be  im- 
possible.' We  prayed  for  him  and  he 
finally  arose  with  a  new  light  in  his  eyes 
and  exclaimed  in  triumph  :  '  Now  I  can 
meet  my  mother  in  heaven,  for  I  have 
found  God.' 

11  A  few  days  before  Mr.  Doane  had  sent 
me  the  subject,  '  Rescue  the  Perishing,' 
and  while  I  sat  there  that  evening,  the 
line  came  to  me,  *  Rescue  the  Perishing, 
care  for  the  dying.'  I  could  think  of 
nothing  else  that  night.  When  I  arrived 
home  I  went  to  work  on  the  hymn  at 
once,  and  before  I  retired  it  was  ready 
for  the  melody.     The  next  day  my  song 


78    Fanny  Crosby  *s  Own  Story 

was  written  out  and  forwarded  to  Mr. 
Doane,  who  wrote  the  beautiful  and 
touching  music  as  it  now  stands  to  my 
hymn. 

Rescue  the  perishing, 

Care  for  the  dying, 
Snatch  them  in  pity  from  sin  and  the  grave ; 

Weep  o'er  the  erring  one, 

Lift  up  the  fallen, 
Tell  them  of  Jesus  the  mighty  to  save. 

"In  the  year  1873  I  wrote  'Blessed 
Assurance.'  My  friend  Mrs.  Joseph  F. 
Knapp  composed  a  melody  and  played 
it  over  to  me  two  or  three  times  on  the 
piano.  She  then  asked  what  it  said.  I 
replied : 

Blessed  assurance,  Jesus  is  mine  ! 
O  what  a  foretaste  of  glory  divine  ! 
Heir  of  salvation,  purchase  of  God, 
Born  of  His  spirit,  washed  in  His  blood. 

"  Mr.  Sankey  in  his  '  Story  of  the  Gos- 
pel Hymns '  says, '  One  of  the  most  popu- 
lar and  useful  of  the  Gospel  Hymns  is 


My  Living  Hymns        79 

"  Blessed  Assurance."  It  was  sung  by 
a  large  delegation  of  Christian  Endeav- 
ourers  on  the  train  going  to  Minneapolis 
some  years  ago,  and  made  a  lasting  im- 
pression upon  many  of  the  passengers. 
The  people  of  Minneapolis,  too,  were 
greatly  delighted  with  the  Christian 
Endeavourers  as  they  sang  this  song  on 
the  way  to  Convention  Hall.' 

"  Towards  the  close  of  a  day  in  the 
year  1874  I  was  sitting  in  my  room 
thinking  of  the  nearness  of  God  through 
Christ  as  the  constant  companion  of  my 
pilgrim  journey,  when  my  heart  burst 
out  with  the  words  : 

Thou,  my  everlasting  portion, 
More  than  friend  or  life  to  Thee ; 

All  along  my  pilgrim  journey, 
Saviour,  let  me  walk  with  Thee. 

"  Mr.  Doane  sent  me  the  subject  and 
the  tune  of  ■  Saviour,  More  Than  Life  to 
Me '  or  '  Every  Day  and  Hour,'  requesting 


80    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

me  to  write  a  hymn  on  that  theme.  This 
I  did  in  the  year  1874.  This  hymn  has 
given  me  great  comfort  and  joy  in  my 
saddest  moments.  I  know  that  God  has 
blessed  this  hymn  to  tens  of  thousands 
of  souls.  Whenever  I  hear  it  sung  it 
strengthens  my  faith,  fires  my  hope  and 
feeds  my  love. 

Saviour,  more  than  life  to  me, 
I  am  clinging,  clinging  close  to  Thee ; 
Let  Thy  precious  blood  applied 
Keep  me  ever  near  Thy  side. 

Every  day,  every  hour, 

Let  me  feel  Thy  cleansing  power ; 

May  Thy  tender  love  to  me 

Bind  me  closer,  closer,  Lord  to  Thee. 

"I  do  not  want  you  to  think,"  con- 
tinued Aunt  Fanny,  "that  while  I  love 
my  own  songs  and  want  them  to  be  use- 
ful that  I  disregard  the  hymns  of  the 
great  writers  of  the  Church.  Many  of 
them   are  engraven  on  my  memory.     I 


My  Living  Hymns        81 

would  go  short  of  a  meal  any  time  to 
hear  the  lines  of  Charles  Wesley,  or 
Cowper,  Watts,  Montgomery,  Bonar, 
Keble,  Newton,  Toplady,  Heber,  and 
Faber.  This  last  author  has  written  my 
favourite  hymn  : 

11  l  Faith  of  our  fathers  living  still 

In  spite  of  dungeon,  fire,  and  sword  : 

O  how  our  hearts  beat  high  with  joy 
Whene'er  we  hear  that  glorious  word  ! 

Faith  of  our  fathers  !  holy  faith  ! 
We  will  be  true  to  thee  till  death  !  ' 

"  There  is  a  great  hymn  written  by  a 
minister  in  Scotland,'*  added  Fanny, 
"  whose  name  is  George  Matheson.  He 
has  written  many  wonderful  books ;  but 
it  is  his  verse  that  attracts  me  most. 
Some  of  his  poems  are  really  fine,  while 
1  O  Love  That  Wilt  Not  Let  Me  Go '  is  a 
really  great  hymn.  After  it  was  first  read 
to  me  I  was  informed  that  its  author  was 
a  blind  man.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  learn 
it  by  heart.     It  is  truly  a  great  hymn. 


82    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

"  ■  O  Love  that  wilt  not  let  me  go, 
I  rest  my  weary  soul  in  thee ; 
I  give  thee  back  the  life  I  owe, 
That  in  thine  ocean  depths  its  flow 
May  richer,  fuller  be. 
*  *  *  # 

"  *  O  Cross  that  liftest  up  my  head, 
I  dare  not  ask  to  fly  from  thee ; 
I  lay  in  dust  life's  glory  dead, 
And  from  the  ground  there  blossoms  red 
Life  that  shall  endless  be.'  " 

Here  the  lunch  bell  rang  and  Aunt 
Fanny  tripped  down-stairs  as  nimbly  as 
a  girl  in  her  teens  blithely  singing : 

Saviour,  more  than  life  to  me, 

I  am  clinging,  clinging  close  to  Thee. 

Up  to  the  time  when  Aunt  Fanny  Crosby 
last  visited  my  home,  in  her  ninety-third 
year,  she  had  written  and  had  been  paid 
for,  by  The  Biglow  &  Main  Co.,  five 
thousand  nine  hundred  hymns.  Mr. 
Hubert  P.  Main  estimates  that  she  has 
written  for  other  publishers  and  friends 
two  thousand  seven  hundred  more,  in  ad- 


Two  Famous  Hymn-Makers 
Fanny  Crosby  and  Ira  D.  Sankey 


My  Living  Hymns        83 

dition  to  secular  poems.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  altogether  her  hymns  and  poems 
total  over  eight  thousand.  While  many 
of  them  may  not  be  considered  great,  yet 
the  majority  have  a  mission  of  faith,  of 
hope  and  love.  In  all  probability  not 
another  person  who  ever  lived  has  written 
so  many  sacred  songs. 

Their  popularity  has  been  unbounded. 
All  over  this  broad  land,  as  in  countries 
across  the  seas,  sweet-voiced  singers  have 
carried  Fanny  Crosby's  gospel  message 
in  song.  Moreover  her  lines  have  been 
sung  by  tens  of  thousands  of  believers 
never  privileged  to  see  in  the  flesh  either 
the  blind  hymn- writer  or  the  men  who 
sang  her  verses  all  over  two  hemispheres. 
Some  of  these  have  gone,  like  Aunt 
Fanny,  to  sing  a  higher,  nobler  strain. 
Conspicuous  among  these  stands  the 
name  of  Ira  D.  Sankey.  It  is  not  easy, 
if  indeed  at  all  possible  at  this  late  date, 
to  write  anything  fresh  about  the  man 


84    Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

whose  name  English-speaking  people 
everywhere  remember  and  revere.  Un- 
der his  singing  of  Fanny  Crosby's  hymns 
tens  of  thousands  were  brought  to  God. 
These  hymns  are  sung  to-day  all  over 
the  wide  world,  and  men  and  women 
catch  anew  their  fervour  and  their  power. 
Their  message  has  gone  forth  in  the 
earth,  and  from  their  proclamation  has 
come  help,  solace  and  peace. 


VII 

Some  Stories  of  My  Songs 


Pass  me  not,  0  gentle  Saviour, 

Hear  my  humble  cry ; 
While  on  others  Thou  art  smiling, 

Do  not  pass  me  by. 

Saviour,  Saviour, 

Hear  my  humble  cry, 

While  on  others  Thou  art  calling, 
Do  not  pass  me  by. 

Let  me  at  a  throne  of  mercy 

Find  a  sweet  relief; 
Kneeling  there  in  deep  contrition, 

Help  my  unbelief. 

Trusting  only  in  Thy  merit, 

Would  I  seek  Thy  face ; 
Heal  my  wounded,  broken  spirit, 

Save  me  by  Thy  grace. 

Thou  the  Spring  of  all  my  comfort, 

More  than  life  to  me, 
Whom  have  I  on  earth  beside  Thee  ? 

Whom  in  heaven  but  Thee  ? 


[  1868  ] 


VII 

SOME  STORIES  OF  MY  SONGS 

"  I  think  that  life  is  not  too  long, 
And  therefore  I  determine 
That  many  people  read  a  song 
Who  will  not  read  a  sermon." 

**  TT^X  O    you   know   that   gentleman 
I   who  has  just  left  me?"  asked 
Aunt  Fanny. 

"  Slightly,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  sit  down,"  she  continued ; 
11  there  are  fifteen  minutes  before  the 
train  leaves.  I  want  to  tell  you  what 
he  has  told  me." 

Some  mutual  friends  had  brought  Aunt 
Fanny  from  Orange  to  Newark,  and  I 
was  meeting  her  at  the  Pennsylvania 
Station.  On  my  arrival  I  found  her  in 
conversation  with  a  successful  Christian 
business  man  of  that  city. 
87 


88    Fanny  Crosbfs  Own  Story 

"  *  I  am  so  pleased  to  see  you,'  this  man 
said,  '  for  I  have  not  met  you  since  you 
were  in  England  with  Moody  and  Sankey.' 
He  would  hardly  believe  me  when  I  told 
him  I  had  never  crossed  the  Atlantic. 
1  Well,'  he  insisted,  ■  if  I  didn't  see  you,  I 
saw  your  spirit  in  your  songs.  In  those 
days  I  was  a  young  business  man  of  good 
parents  living  in  Leeds,  Yorkshire.  I  took 
to  drinking,  and  was  going  down  fast, 
when  I  went  to  one  of  the  Moody  and 
Sankey  Meetings  and  heard  them  sing, 
"Pass  Me  Not,  O  Gentle  Saviour."  I 
said  in  my  heart,  "I  wish  He  would  not 
pass  me  by."  I  went  to  the  next  night's 
meeting  and  the  service  began  with  the 
same  hymn.  I  could  resist  no  longer. 
There  and  then  I  fully  surrendered  my 
life  to  God.  The  next  year  I  came  to 
America,  began  business  in  this  city,  and 
have  been  successful.  That  is  forty  years 
ago.  It  is  my  custom  to  carry  a  copy  of 
your  hymn  with  me  every  day.'    He  bade 


Some  Stories  of  My  Songs    89 

me  good-bye  and  before  he  went  away 
placed  this  in  my  hand." 

It  was  a  bank  note  for  twenty  dollars. 

On  the  train  Fanny  told  me  this  story  : 
"  When  in  Orange  I  met  a  returned 
missionary  who  told  me  that  many  of  my 
hymns  were  translated  into  the  Chinese 
and  Japanese  languages,  and  that  on  one 
occasion,  while  he  was  visiting  a  mis- 
sionary school  in  Korea,  he  met  a  little 
girl  who  was  blind,  whose  name  was 
Fanny.  They  called  her  '  Little  Blind 
Fanny  Crosby.'  People  often  came  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  hear  little 
blind  Fanny  sing, 

"  Praise   Him,   praise   Him,  Jesus  our  Blessed 
Redeemer. 
Sing,  O  earth,  His  wonderful  love  proclaim. 

"  It  was  wonderful.  He  told  me  also 
that  they  knew  *  Safe  in  the  Arms  of 
Jesus,'  ■  Blessed  Assurance,'  '  Rescue  the 
Perishing '  and  '  Pass  Me  Not '  in  foreign- 
mission  lands  as  well  as  in  this  country. 


90    Fanny  Crosby  ys  Own  Story 

The  last  song  that  he  heard  in  Korea 
was  '  Saved  by  Grace,'  sung  by  little 
blind  Fanny." 

In  September,  1907,  Aunt  Fanny  was 
resting  at  our  home,  when  a  lady  called 
and  asked  to  see  Miss  Crosby,  the  great 
hymn- writer.  This  visitor  remained  fully 
two  hours.  When  she  went  away  I 
joined  Aunt  Fanny,  who  said,  "  Sit  down. 
1  have  a  wonderful  story  to  tell  you. 
That  lady  was  born  in  the  same  town  as 
Frances  Ridley  Havergal,  in  England,  and 
knew  her  very  well.  I  recited  for  her 
some  of  the  lines  that  were  sent  me  by 
the  English  poetess  : 

"  l  Dear  blind  sister  over  the  sea, 

An  English  heart  goes  forth  to  thee. 

We  are  linked  by  a  cable  of  faith  and  song, 
Flashing  bright  sympathy  swift  along  ; 

One  in  the  East  and  one  in  the  West, 

Singing  for  Him  whom  our  souls  love  best.' 

"  My  visitor  told  me  she  did  not  come 
to  see  me  for  herself  alone,  but  to  tell  me 


Some  Stories  of  My  Songs    91 

the  story  of  her  dear  boy  Will,  who  went 
home  to  God  two  years  ago.  *  He  was  a 
sweet  church  chorister,'  she  said, '  became 
ill,  was  taken  to  the  hospital  and  in  two 
weeks  returned — a  hopeless  case.  He 
loved  your  hymns  and  was  constantly 
singing  them  in  the  hospital,  and  several 
of  the  patients  confessed  Christ  through 
his  singing  "  Blessed  Assurance."  He  al- 
ways had  a  Moody  and  Sankey  book  by 
his  bedside.  The  evening  on  which  he 
died  was  one  of  those  charming  English 
twilights.  Will  had  felt  better  all  day 
and  the  doctor  encouraged  us.  I  was 
alone  in  the  house,  when  I  heard  the 
sound  of  his  cane  on  the  floor.  On 
reaching  his  bedside  he  said,  "  Mother, 
dear,  don't  leave  me.  Give  me  my 
hymn-book.  I  want  to  sing,  '  Safe  in  the 
arms  of  Jesus.'  "  When  he  reached  the 
line  "  Hark  'tis  the  voice  of  angels,"  my 
dear  boy  dropped  the  book  and  his  face 
was  illumined  as  he  said  "  Ma,  there  are 


92    Fanny  Crosby  *s  Own  Story 

the  angels.  There  are  the  fields  of  glory. 
There  is  the  jasper  sea."  And  then  he 
passed  out  to  be  with  them  and  his  Lord 
forever  more.* " 

At  an  evening  service  of  that  day  Aunt 
Fanny  told  many  stories  of  her  hymn- 
writing  which  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  her  audience.  "  One  of  these/'  she 
said,  "  was  sent  me  from  a  newspaper.  I 
have  also  heard  Mr.  Sankey  tell  the  story. 
'  The  congregation  of  Christ  Protestant 
Episcopal  Church,  Union  Avenue,  Alle- 
gheny, was  startled  yesterday  by  a  sen- 
sational supplement  to  the  morning  serv- 
ice. The  church  was  well  rilled,  and 
devout  worshippers  responded  to  the 
service  as  read  by  the  rector,  Dr.  Robert 
Meech.  The  reading  had  been  concluded, 
and  the  rector  was  about  to  make  the 
usual  announcements  of  future  services 
when  an  incident  occurred  such  as  old 
Christ  Church  had  never  dreamed  of. 
Out  of  the  usual  line  in  a  church  of  this 


Some  Stories  of  My  Songs    93 

denomination,  it  was  nevertheless  marked 
in  its  effect,  and  will  never  be  forgotten 
by  those  present. 

"  '  In  the  fourth  pew  from  the  front  aisle 
of  the  church  sat  a  neatly-dressed  woman 
of  intellectual  face,  apparently  about  thirty 
years  of  age.  Her  presence  as  a  stranger 
had  been  noticed  by  many,  and  her  deep, 
tearful  interest  in  the  service  had  been 
quietly  commented  on  by  those  who  oc- 
cupied the  adjoining  pews.  At  the  point 
mentioned  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and, 
struggling  with  emotion,  began  to  speak. 
The  startled  congregation  was  all  atten- 
tion, and  she  was  allowed  to  proceed. 
Rapidly  and  eloquently  she  told  of  her 
going  out  from  the  church  and  of  her  re- 
turn to  it.  In  graphic  words  she  painted 
the  hideousness  of  sin  and  the  joys  of  a 
pure  life,  and  as  she  spoke  men  ancf 
women  either  gave  way  to  their  emo- 
tions or  listened  breathlessly. 

"'"I  was   christened  in  this  church, * 


94    Fanny  Crosby  's  Own  Story 

she  said,  "  and  attended  Sunday-school  in 
the  basement  when  Dr.  Paige  was  rector. 
My  mother  was  a  devout  member  here, 
and  taught  me  the  right  way.  At  the 
age  of  fifteen  I  deserted  my  home  and 
married  an  actor.  For  a  number  of  years 
I  followed  the  stage  as  a  profession,  lead- 
ing such  a  life  as  naturally  accompanies 
it.  In  dramatic  circles,  in  variety  busi- 
ness, and  in  the  circus,  I  spent  those 
godless  years. 

"  '  "  About  two  years  ago  I  was  in  the 
city  of  Chicago.  One  afternoon  I  was 
on  my  way  to  Ferris  Wheel  Park  to 
spend  the  afternoon  in  revelry,  when  I 
happened  on  an  open-air  meeting  which 
the  Epworth  League  of  Grace  Methodist 
Episcopal  Church  was  conducting  on 
North  Park  Street.  I  stopped  through 
curiosity,  as  I  believed,  to  listen ;  but  I 
know  now  that  God  arrested  my  foot- 
steps there.  They  were  singing  'Saved 
by   Grace,'   and    the   melody   impressed 


Some  Stories  of  My  Songs    95 

me.  Recollections  of  childhood  days 
came  trooping  into  my  soul,  and  I  re- 
membered that  in  all  the  years  of  my 
absence  my  mother,  until  her  death  nine 
years  ago,  had  been  praying  for  me. 

11 ' "  I  was  converted  and,  falling  on 
my  knees  on  the  curbstone,  I  asked  my 
Father's  pardon.  Then  and  there  I  re- 
ceived it,  and  I  left  the  place  with  a  peace 
which  has  never  forsaken  me.  I  gave 
up  my  profession  at  once  and  have  lived 
for  His  service  ever  since.  I  have  been 
but  a  few  days  in  this  city.  Last  night  I 
visited  the  Hope  Mission,  and  the  Lord 
told  me  I  must  come  here  and  testify  of 
what  He  has  done  for  me.  I  have  not 
been  in  this  church  for  many  years,  but 
it  seems  only  yesterday  that  I  left  it.  I 
have  been  sitting  in  the  pew  directly 
opposite  the  one  once  occupied  by  my 
mother  and  I  feel  her  presence  to-day.  I 
could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  give  this  tes- 
timony.   The  Lord  Himself  sent  me  here." 


96    Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

"  *  The  congregation  was  profoundly 
impressed.  The  rector  descended  from 
the  chancel  and,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  ap- 
proached the  speaker,  bidding  her  God- 
speed. The  service  went  on.  At  its 
conclusion  many  members  of  the  con- 
gregation shook  hands  with  the  stranger 
and  told  of  their  impressions.  A  stranger 
might  have  imagined  himself  in  a  Meth- 
odist church,  so  intense  was  the  feeling. 
The  strange  visitor  departed  with  a  sense 
of  duty  done.  All  she  said  was :  "I  feel 
that  the  Lord  Jesus  and  mother  have 
been  here." '  " 

I  whispered  to  Aunt  Fanny  that  there 
were  a  number  of  railroad  men  in  the 
congregation.  She  took  the  hint  and 
addressed  them  :  "  The  railroad  men  are 
*  my  boys.'  I  love  every  one  of  them  and 
I  must  say  a  word  to  them  ere  I  close. 
A  great  many  years  ago  a  very  dear 
friend  of  mine  had  charge  of  a  large 
number   of   railroad  men  in  New  York 


Some  Stories  of  My  Songs    97 

City.  These  men  had  to  work  seven  days 
in  the  week,  and  it  was  agreed  that  the 
room  where  they  waited  for  the  trolleys 
should  be  fixed  up,  and  each  Sunday 
morning  a  service  lasting  one  hour  should 
be  conducted  in  the  interest  of  the  con- 
ductors and  drivers.  Here  in  this  dingy 
little  room  made  cheerful  with  a  bit  of 
red  carpet  and  a  few  flowers  and  plants, 
I  began  my  work  with  the  railroad  boys. 
Many  and  many  a  time  I  have  spoken 
for  them  in  their  Y.  M.  C.  A.  meetings 
and  in  their  missions,  and  it  has  always 
cheered  my  heart  when  I  have  heard 
those  strong  men  sing  some  of  the  hymns 
I  have  written." 

When  we  returned  home  that  night 
Aunt  Fanny  related  many  instances  sim- 
ilar to  those  set  down  in  this  chapter  of 
how  her  hymns  and  gospel  songs  have 
been  blessed  to  the  hearts  of  men  and 
women  the  wide  world  over. 

"  God  has  given  me  a  wonderful  work 


98    Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

to  do,"  she  said,  "a  work  that  has  brought 
me  untold  blessing  and  great  joy.  When 
word  is  brought  to  me,  as  it  is  from  time 
to  time,  of  some  wandering  soul  being 
brought  back  home  through  one  of  my 
hymns,  my  heart  thrills  with  joy,  and  I 
give  thanks  to  God  for  giving  me  a  share 
in  the  glorious  work  of  saving  human 
souls." 


VIII 

My  Teachers  and  Teaching 


All  the  way  my  Saviour  leads  me : 

What  have  I  to  ask  beside  ? 
Can  I  doubt  His  tender  mercy 

Who  through  life  has  been  my  guide  ? 
Heavenly  faith,  divinest  comfort 

There  by  faith  in  Him  to  dwell  ! 
For  I  know  whate'er  befall  me, 

Jesus  doeth  all  things  well. 

All  the  way  my  Saviour  leads  me, 

Cheers  each  winding  path  I  tread  ; 
Gives  me  grace  for  every  trial, 

Feeds  me  with  the  living  bread  ; 
Though  my  weary  steps  may  falter, 

And  my  soul  athirst  may  be, 
Gushing  from  the  Rock  before  me, 

Lo,  a  spring  of  joy  I  see. 

All  the  way  my  Saviour  leads  me ; 

Oh,  the  fullness  of  His  love  ! 
Perfect  rest  to  me  is  promised 

In  my  Father's  house  above ; 
When  my  spirit,  clothed,  immortal, 

Wings  its  flight  to  endless  day, 
This  my  song  through  endless  ages  — • 

Jesus  led  me  all  the  way. 


[Mfi 


VIII 
MY  TEACHERS  AND  TEACHING 

"  If  you  devote  your  time  to  study  you  will 
avoid  the  irksomeness  of  life ;  nor  will  you  long 
for  the  approach  of  night,  being  tired  of  day ;  nor 
will  you  be  a  burden  to  yourself,  nor  your  society 
unsupportable  to  others." 

"*  TT  HAVE  been  interested  in  schools, 
teachers  and  teaching  all  of  my 
life,"  said  Aunt  Fanny.  "  A  teacher 
can  easily  inspire  or  depress  a  pupil. 
When  I  was  a  student  some  of  my  teach- 
ers did  not  understand  me,  and  thereby 
were  quite  unable  to  give  me  what  I 
needed."  It  was  the  close  of  a  bright 
summer  day.  Aunt  Fanny  had  been 
visiting  the  Seminary  which  has  been 
located  in  our  town  along  the  banks 
of  the  Muskonetcong  for  fifty  years. 
When  she  returned,  she  began  to  talk 

IOI 


102  Fanny  Crosby  *s  Own  Story 

of  her  educational  life.  "  My  mother, 
grandmother  and  a  dear  old  Quaker 
friend  were  among  my  first  instructors," 
she  continued.  "I  was  eager  for  an  edu- 
cation. I  prayed  daily  to  God  that  He 
would  open  the  way  for  me  to  get  with 
those  who  were  able  to  instruct  me  in  the 
higher  branches  of  learning.  When  my 
mother  told  me  that  I  was  to  enter  the 
Institution  for  the  Blind  in  New  York 
City,  I  clapped  my  hands  and  said, 
'Thank  God,  He  has  answered  my 
prayer.'  While  I  loved  my  home  and 
mother,  I  was  ready  and  willing  to  go 
away  in  order  to  be  educated.  On  the 
3d  of  March,  1835, 1  came  to  Norwalk  by 
stage,  and  then  by  boat  to  New  York 
City.  A  few  days  were  spent  with  my 
friends,  after  which  they  took  me  to  the 
Institution.  That  night  I  went  to  my 
bed  with  a  heavy  heart.  At  breakfast 
next  morning  Superintendent  Russ  came 
to  me  and  in  the  kindest  way  cheered 


My  Teachers  and  Teaching  103 

my  drooping  heart  by  instructing  me  in 
the  Scriptures  and  reading  to  me  some 
poems. 

"  I  soon  felt  at  home,  and  was  delighted 
to  hear  my  teachers  read  the  best  poetry. 
There  were  both  boys  and  girls  in  the 
Institution,  and  some  of  the  teachers 
were  distrustful  of  them.  I  said  to  one 
of  those  watch-dog  teachers  one  day : 
'Trust  the  boys  and  girls,  and  they  won't 
deceive  you.  All  the  pupils  hate  a  tattle 
tale  teacher/ 

"  There  were  certain  studies  that  I  trulj 
loved.  I  was  wrapped  up  in  them.  But 
I  hated  mathematics.  I  had  no  faculty 
for  it,  and  the  teachers  excused  me.  They 
were  wise  in  this,  for  it  was  not  a  bit  of 
use  seeking  to  force  arithmetic  on  me. 
Once  I  was  both  helped  and  hurt  by  my 
teacher,  who  requested  to  see  me  at  his 
office.  I  was  elated,  thinking  he  was  to 
commend  my  work,  but  to  my  surprise 
he  talked  out  of  his  heart  to  me  concern- 


io4  Fanny  Crosby 's  Own  Story 

ing  people  who  were  flattering  my  poetry, 
and  warned  me  with  the  words :  '  A  flat- 
tering mouth  worketh  ruin.'  I  had  been 
thinking  that  I  was  a  real  poetess,  but  this 
kind  man  showed  me  wherein  my  work 
was  weak.  I  was  hurt,  but  I  was  also 
helped.  After  thanking  him,  I  said, '  You 
have  been  as  a  father  to  me.'  From  this 
lesson  I  learned  the  best  method  of  deal- 
ing with  pupils  in  after  days.  If  I  de- 
sired to  do  the  most  for  them,  it  was  best 
achieved  by  never  correcting  them  in  the 
presence  of  others. 

"As  a  pupil  and  instructor  I  remained 
in  this  Institution  for  twenty-three  years. 
I  was  schooled  in  the  best  there  was  in 
music,  art,  and  literature.  When  I  be- 
gan to  teach,  my  mind  was  clearly  made 
up  what  not  to  do,  so  I  became  a  favourite 
with  my  pupils.  I  considered  their  gifts, 
and  sought  to  bring  out  the  best  that 
they  were  capable  of  doing.  For  ninety- 
three    years   I   have   kept   up   with   the 


My  Teachers  and  Teaching  105 

growth  of  our  school  life,  and  have  my 
personal  opinions  concerning  teaching 
and  teachers.  My  own  view  is  that 
much  of  our  public  school  work  to-day  is 
too  shallow.  The  pupils  are  required  to 
go  over  so  many  things  that  many  of 
them  are  incompetent  to  do  one  thing 
well.  A  young  man  from  a  high  school 
came  to  spend  an  evening  with  me  some 
time  since,  and  I  asked  him  to  read 
Kipling's  ■  Recessional.'  When  he  came 
to  the  words : 

"  '  For  heathen  heart  that  puts  its  trust 
In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard,' 

he  was  truly  confused.  Our  high  school 
pupils  ought  at  least  to  be  able  to  read 
correctly.  In  the  days  when  I  was  a  girl 
we  mastered  thoroughly  one  subject.  I 
was  able  to  recite  the  grammar  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  I  feel  our  great  need  is 
to  train  teachers  not  to  get  merely  so 
much  money,  and  fill  in  so  many  hours  a 


106  Fanny  Crosby  's  Own  Story 

^^»— ^— 

year,  but  to  develop  in  the  young  Ameri- 
can thoroughness  and  personality. 

"  Have  you  studied  the  life  of  Helen 
Keller  ?  "  I  told  her  I  had.  Also  that  I 
had  spent  an  hour  with  her,  had  read  all 
her  books,  and  had  talked  with  her 
teacher.  When  she  knew  this,  Aunt 
Fanny  was  willing  to  stay  up  all  night  to 
hear  of  my  experience  with  Miss  Keller. 
I  brought  her  the  books  Helen  Keller  had 
written,  and  placed  them  in  her  lap.  As 
she  took  up  one  by  one,  "The  Story  of 
My  Life,"  "  The  World  I  Live  In,"  "  Out 
of  the  Dark,"  and  a  little  volume  on 
"  Optimism,"  Aunt  Fanny  exclaimed,  "  Is 
it  possible  that  one  with  so  many  draw- 
backs has  done  so  much  ?  She  puts  us 
all  to  shame.  Truly  her  teacher  is  a 
genius  in  industry." 

The  Seminary  clock  struck  twelve 
as  I  read  from  the  essay  on  "  Optimism." 
When  I  came  to  the  passage,  "  I  am  a 
citizen   of   the   world,    I   see   a   brighter 


My  Teachers  and  Teaching  107 

spiritual  era  ...  in  which  there  shall 
be  no  England,  no  France,  no  Germany- 
no  America,  but  one  family,  the  human 
race  ;  one  law,  peace  ;  one  need,  harmony  ; 
one  means,  labour;  one  taskmaster,  God," 
Aunt  Fanny  sprang  from  her  seat, 
clapped  her  hands,  and  said  :  "  Wonder- 
ful vision.     She  is  a  Deborah. 

"  I  met  her  first  years  ago,  and  have  an 
engagement  to  be  with  her  in  New  York 
City  in  the  coming  fall.  In  my  quiet 
hours  I  feel  the  influence  of  her  teacher- 
spirit.  She  is  one  of  the  greatest  gifts 
to  this  age.  The  way  in  which  the 
apparently  impossible  has  been  achieved 
in  her  case  is  wonderful  to  think  of. 
Shut  up  in  the  dark  from  all  the  beau- 
tiful things  other  people  depend  so 
much  upon  for  the  pleasures  of  life,  she 
has  managed  not  only  to  keep  happy 
but  to  fling  sunshine  all  about  her  and 
to  bless  others  in  an  exceptional  and  beau- 
tiful way.     Hers  is  a  splendid  triumph 


108  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

over  adversity — the  triumph  of  a  victori- 
ous spirit." 

Aunt  Fanny  took  Helen  Keller's  four 
volumes  with  her  to  her  bedroom  that 
night  and  the  next  morning  recited  to  me 
these  lines  : 

There  is  a  chain  that  links  my  soul  to  thine, 
I  may  not  clasp  thy  gentle  hand  in  mine, 
And  yet  in  thought  each  other  we  may  meet, 
And  spend  this  day  in  converse  pure  and  sweet. 

I  met  thee  once.     'Twas  many  years  ago, 
And  yet  its  memories  like  a  fountain  flow  ; 
I  hear  thy  voice,  as  then  its  tones  I  heard, 
And  fond  affection  clings  to  every  word. 

God  keep  thee  still  beneath  His  watching  care, 
And  strew  thy  path  with  buds  and   blossoms 

rare, 
When  other  hearts  their  tribute  bring  to  thee, 
Oh,  may  I  ask  that  mine  received  may  be. 


IX 

My  Notable  Preachers 


Blessed  day  when  pure  devotions 
Rise  to  God  on  wings  of  love ; 

When  we  catch  the  distant  music 
Of  the  angel  choirs  above. 

Blessed  day,  when  bells  are  calling 
Weary  souls  from  earthly  care, 

And  we  come,  with  hearts  uplifted, 
To  the  holy  place  of  prayer. 

Blessed  day,  so  calm  and  restful, 
Bringing  joy  and  peace  to  all, 

Linger  yet  in  tranquil  beauty, 
Ere  the  shades  of  evening  fall. 

Blessed  day,  thy  light  is  fading ; 

One  by  one  its  beams  depart ; 
May  their  calm  and  sweet  reflection 

Still  abide  in  every  heart. 

[  18H  ] 


IX 

MY  NOTABLE  PREACHERS 

"  The  best  preacher  is  the  heart : 
The  best  teacher  is  time ; 
The  best  book  is  the  world : 
The  best  friend  is  God." 

*  r  I  ^O  tell  you  of  all  the  notable 
preachers  I  have  known  would 
fill  a  great  volume,"  said  Aunt 
Fanny.  We  were  travelling  together 
from  Bridgeport,  Conn.,  to  Amboy,  New 
Jersey.  I  had  gone  to  the  New  England 
town  to  bring  Aunt  Fanny  to  my  home, 
and  during  the  journey  I  asked  her  for 
some  impressions  of  the  great  men  of  the 
pulpit  which  during  her  long  life  she  had 
been  privileged  both  to  hear  and  meet. 

"  In  Bridgeport  I  have  heard  some  of 
the    ablest    men   this   country   has   pro- 
duced,"   she   said.      "  About   twenty-six 
in 


112  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

years  ago  Randolph  S.  Foster,  Bishop 
of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church, 
preached  one  of  the  most  masterly 
sermons  that  I  have  ever  heard  from 
the  text :  *  When  I  consider  Thy  heavens, 
the  work  of  Thy  ringers,  the  moon  and 
the  stars  which  Thou  hast  ordained ; 
What  is  man  that  Thou  art  mindful  of 
him?  and  the  son  of  man  that  Thou 
visitest  him?'  If  there  is  a  third  heaven 
I  was  there  that  Sunday  morning  while 
listening  to  that  saintly  man.  He  was 
small  of  stature,  but  of  a  wonderful  mind. 
I  heard  him  several  times  after  that,  but 
to  me  he  never  equalled  that  occasion.  I 
shall  bear  the  message  with  me  into 
eternity. 

"  On  another  occasion  I  heard  Dr.  J. 
O.  Peck  in  the  same  church.  His  speech 
impressed  me  with  the  thought  that  he 
was  truly  a  master  workman.  He  had  a 
body  like  Washington,  and  a  voice  like 
a  trumpet.     There  is  one  story  he  told 


My  Notable  Preachers    113 

I  shall  never  forget.  He  was  showing 
the  value  of  individual  Christian  steward- 
ship, and  said,  '  There  was  once  a  man 
who  made  a  profession  of  the  Christian 
religion  to  whom  his  pastor  sought  to 
show  the  value  of  benevolence  to  his 
own  life.  But  he  replied,  "The  dying 
thief  was  converted  and  went  direct  to 
heaven,  and  he  never  gave  anything 
towards  the  heathen  nor  the  expenses  of 
the  church."  Then  the  minister  asked 
him  if  he  would  permit  him  to  dis- 
tinguish between  him  and  the  dying 
thief.  The  poor  fellow  gave  his  consent 
and  the  minister  said,  "  The  man  on  the 
cross  was  a  dying  thief,  but  you  are  a 
living  thief  I '"  " 

Aunt  Fanny's  voice  rang  with  laughter 
as  she  told  this  story. 

"  I  think  /  have  a  story  as  good  as 
that  on  Christian  giving,,,  she  said.  "  I 
always  believe  in  and  carry  out  in  my 
life  the  command  which  runs,  *  Honour 


ii4  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

the  Lord  with  thy  substance  and  first 
fruits  of  thy  increase,  so  shall  thy  barns 
be  filled  with  plenty  and  thy  presses  shall 
burst  out  new  wine.*  A  young  minister 
friend  of  mine  once  went  up  to  a  quiet 
New  England  town  to  spend  his  vacation 
with  his  little  boy.  The  father  had  given 
close  attention  to  the  training  of  his 
only  son.  They  were  really  companions. 
The  mother  had  been  taken  to  the  Better 
Land  when  the  boy  was  born.  The 
preacher  had  not  been  in  town  a  week 
before  a  deacon  of  the  church  came  and 
requested  him  to  preach  on  Sunday 
morning,  as  the  man  engaged  had  dis- 
appointed them.  After  some  talk  with 
the  farmer- deacon  the  minister  consented. 
It  was  a  lovely  Sunday  as  the  preacher 
and  his  son  wound  'round  the  'Pine 
Path.'  He  preached  a  sermon  that  had 
in  it  the  idea  of  race  improvement.  The 
people  listened  well.  The  service  ended 
without  an  offering  being  taken,  and  it 


My  Notable  Preachers    115 

had  been  the  custom  of  this  minister 
never  to  appear  in  the  sanctuary  without 
bringing  an  offering  to  the  Lord.  So  as 
he  left  the  church  he  placed  a  fifty-cent 
piece  in  the  box  by  the  door  and  went 
down  the  winding  '  Pine  Path/  In  a  few 
seconds  he  heard  a  voice  and  turning  he 
saw  the  deacon  hastening  towards  him, 
who  placed  in  his  hand  a  fifty-cent  piece, 
saying,  *  It  is  our  custom  up  here  to  pre- 
sent the  preacher  with  whatever  we  find  in 
me  offering  boxes  for  his  services/  Then 
me  minister's  little  boy  looked  up  into 
his  father's  face  and  said,  *  Papa,  if  you 
had  given  more  you  would  have  gotten 
more,  wouldn't  you  ? '  " 

We  had  now  reached  Stamford  and  as 
Fanny  heard  the  name  of  the  town  she 
said,  "I  remember  well  the  time  when 
Dr.  James  M.  Buckley,  that  statesman  of 
Methodism,  stood  for  righteousness  like  a 
bulwark  in  this  city.  Often  have  I  heard 
him  in  Brooklyn  with  pleasure  and  profit 


u6  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

and  to-day  I  love  to  hear  read  what  he 
writes.  Chaplain  McCabe  was  a  live 
coal  from  heaven.  His  singing  thrilled 
my  soul.  I  think  he  has  influenced  more 
people  by  his  songs  than  any  minister  of 
his  day.  It  has  been  my  pleasure  often 
to  converse  with  him  and  to  receive  his 
counsel. 

"Bishop  Thomas  Bowman  (who  I 
think  was  born  in  the  same  year  as  my- 
self) was  truly  an  apostle  of  power. 
Bishop  Edward  Andrews  was  a  statesman 
worthy  of  his  position.  I  regard  him  as 
one  of  the  sanest  and  safest  Christian 
gentlemen  I  have  ever  known.  Some- 
times it  took  quite  a  while  for  him  to 
get  going,  but  he  always  gave  you  some- 
thing worth  listening  to.  John  P.  New- 
man charmed  my  soul  with  his  oratorical 
flights.  John  Fletcher  Hurst  has  made 
for  himself  a  great  name  in  the  church  of 
which  he  was  a  bishop.  He  was  a  scholar 
and  a  cultured  Christian  gentleman.     I 


My  Notable  Preachers    117 

consider  him  the  first  writer  in  Methodism 
on  church  history.  Bishop  Brooks  I  re- 
vered. He  was  the  big  man  of  the  Epis- 
copalian Church.  The  greatest  lecture  it 
has  been  my  privilege  to  hear  was  one 
delivered  by  Bishop  Charles  H.  Fowler 
on  Lincoln.  It  is  beyond  my  powers  of 
description.' ' 

As  we  entered  New  York  City  Aunt 
Fanny  remarked,  "  Here  and  in  Brook- 
lyn I  have  heard  some  mighty  men." 
We  went  down  to  the  Jersey  ferry  in  a 
hack,  and  as  we  crossed  the  North  River 
she  said,  "  All  the  big  men  that  we  have 
been  talking  about  to-day  rise  before  me 
like  a  dream.  I  have  a  whole  garden  full 
of  them  in  my  mind.  Matthew  Simpson 
I  shall  never  forget.  He  showed  me  the 
beauties  of  the  world  that  now  is,  and  of 
that  which  is  to  come.  Henry  Ward 
Beecher,  whom  I  knew  well,  was  the 
greatest  of  pulpit  orators  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  if  not  of  any  century.     When  1 


n8  Fanny  Crosby *s  Own  Story 

lived  in  Brooklyn  he  was  bitterly  perse- 
cuted, but  like  the  Hebrew  children  he 
came  out  of  the  flames  unhurt.  Dr.  Rich- 
ard Salter  Storrs,  one  year  younger  than 
myself,  was  a  man  of  lofty  principles  and 
purity  of  motive.  His  influence  in  the 
city  was  salient.  Dr.  John  Hall  of  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Presbyterian  Church  in 
New  York  was  a  dear  friend  of  mine. 
His  sermons  were  rich  in  thought  and 
helpful  in  spirit.  Dr.  Howard  Crosby 
was  a  scholarly  preacher.  I  never  went 
to  hear  him  without  feeling  I  was  richly 
repaid. 

"  Two  ministers,  who  lived  in  Brooklyn 
during  my  residence  there,  bore  names 
precious  to  me — Dr.  Behrends  and  Dr. 
Cuyler.  Dr.  Behrends,  of  the  Central 
Congregational  Church,  was  a  safe 
man  in  the  pulpit  and  out  of  it.  He 
built  firmly  on  the  foundation  of  God 
which  standeth  sure.  But  the  great  pas- 
tor was  Theodore  L.  Cuyler.     For  thirty 


My  Notable  Preachers    119 

years  he  was  a  most  successful  pastor 
of  the  Lafayette  Avenue  Presbyterian 
Church,  and  I  highly  value  his  books, 
'God's  Light  On  Dark  Clouds,'  'Chris- 
tianity In  the  Home,'  and  ■  How  to  Be  a 
Pastor.'  Though  not  as  eloquent  as 
some  Brooklyn  divines,  none  were  more 
respected  or  useful  than  Dr.  Cuyler.  If 
you  desire  to  be  a  prince  among  pastors 
read  and  follow  Theodore  L.  Cuyler." 

The  ferry-boat  entered  the  slip  with  a 
bang.  "  Be  careful,  Captain,"  said  Aunt 
Fanny,  "you  have  precious  freight 
aboard."  Our  hackman  listened  to  his 
passenger  with  close  attention,  and  when 
I  informed  him  that  she  was  Fanny 
Crosby,  who  had  written  "  Safe  in  the 
Arms  of  Jesus,"  he  took  off  his  hat  and 
wept.  He  called  a  policeman  and  said, 
"  This  is  Miss  Fanny  Crosby,  who  wrote 
'  Safe  in  the  Arms  of  Jesus.'  I  want  you 
to  help  this  young  man  to  get  her  safely 
to  the  train." 


120  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

"  I  sure  will,"  said  the  policeman.  Then 
quite  sadly  he  added,  "  We  sang  that 
hymn  at  my  little  girl's  funeral  last  week." 

Aunt  Fanny  took  the  policeman's  arm 
and  said,  "  I  call  all  the  policemen  and 
railroad  men  *  my  boys/  They  take  such 
good  care  of  me  wherever  I  go."  The 
officer  assisted  her  with  greatest  care  and 
as  she  took  her  seat  in  the  train  she  said 
to  him,  "God  bless  your  dear  heart. 
You  shall  have  my  prayers.  Tell  your 
dear  wife  that  your  little  daughter  is  safe 
in  the  arms  of  Jesus."  The  great  strong 
policeman  turned  away  wiping  the  tears 
from  his  eyes. 

For  half  an  hour  after  the  train  pulled 
out  of  the  station  Aunt  Fanny  was  silent 
as  if  asleep.  Then  she  roused  herself  and 
said,  "  I  have  been  thinking  about  you. 
You  are  a  young  minister  of  God.  The 
notables  of  whom  I  have  spoken  have 
brought  much  sunshine  into  my  life. 
Live  close  to  their  example  and  you  will 


My  Notable  Preachers    121 

not  live  in  vain.  The  mission  of  a  min- 
ister is  matchless.  You  never  have  to 
apologize  for  your  message.  Be  careful 
and  guard  against  fads,  cranks  and 
schisms;  for  these  have  done  more  real 
harm  to  the  growth  of  the  Kingdom  of 
God  among  men  than  anything  else  I 
have  known.  Once  a  man  came  into  a 
meeting  at  which  I  was  present  and  after 
having  listened  to  a  stirring  address  on 
foreign  missions  stood  up  and  said  with 
a  nasal  whine  :  '  Talk  about  foreign  mis- 
sions !  Why,  there  is  plenty  of  work  to 
do  at  home.  Go  down  on  the  streets  of 
our  city  and  see  our  boys  and  young 
men.  Go  to  church  and  see  forty  bon- 
nets to  one  bald  pate.  It's  time,  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  that  we  went  to  work  at 
home ;  and  if  you  don't  look  out,  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  there  will  not  be  men 
enough  in  heaven  to  sin£  bass.'  " 

By  this  time  the  tra;n  had  reached  Am- 
boy.     I  took  Aunt  Fanny  down  along  the 


122  Fanny  Crosby  *s  Own  Story 

"  Bluff  "  in  an  auto  where  she  could  catch 
a  whiff  of  sea  breeze,  hear  the  splash  of 
the  waves,  look  out  towards  the  open  sea 
and  feel  upon  her  face  the  glow  of  the 
sunset  that  was  kissing  the  billows  into 
golden  splendour  away  out  towards 
Sandy  Hook.  Such  an  experience  she 
specially  enjoyed.  She  seemed  always 
to  be  communing  with  the  tumbling 
waters,  and  to  be  answering  in  her  heart 
little  Paul  Dombey's  question :  "  What 
are  the  wild  waves  saying?"  To  Fanny 
Crosby  they  were  ever  telling  of  God's 
goodness,  of  a  Heavenly  Father's  care. 


X 

Making  the  Best  of  Everything 


Sing  with  a  tuneful  spirit, 

Sing  with  a  cheerful  lay, 
Praise  to  thy  great  Creator, 

While  on  the  pilgrim  way. 
Sing  when  the  birds  are  waking, 

Sing  with  the  morning  light ; 
Sing  in  the  noontide's  golden  beam 

Sing  in  the  hush  of  night. 

Sing  when  the  heart  is  troubled, 

Sing  when  the  hours  are  long, 
Sing  when  the  storm-cloud  gathers' 

Sweet  is  the  voice  of  song. 
Sing  when  the  sky  is  darkest, 

Sing  when  the  thunders  roll ; 
Sing  of  the  land  where  rest  remains^ 

Rest  for  the  weary  soul. 

Sing  in  the  vale  of  shadows, 

Sing  in  the  hour  of  death, 
And,  when  the  eyes  are  closing, 

Sing  with  the  latest  breath. 
Sing  till  the  heart's  deep  longings 

Cease  on  the  other  shore ; 
Then,  with  the  countless  numbers  there 

Sing  on  forever  more. 
{18691 


X 

MAKING  THE  BEST  OF  EVERYTHING 

"  0  joy  that  seekest  me  through  pain, 
I  cannot  close  my  heart  to  thee ; 
I  trace  the  rainbow  through  the  rain, 
And  feel  the  promise  is  not  vain 
That  morn  shall  tearless  be." 

u  "W  "^T  TELL,  it  might  have  been 
^/^/  worse,"  said  Aunt  Fanny. 
"  No  one  was  drowned.  I 
have  long  since  learned  that  *  what  can't 
be  cured  must  be  endured.'  Some  days 
are  good,  some  days  are  ill.  But  it 
never  pays  to  murmur,  and  it  is  useless 
to  worry." 

It  was  the  morning  after  a  severe 
storm.  Before  bedtime,  the  night  be- 
fore, the  winds  had  begun  to  howl  and 
the  incoming  tide  played  havoc  with  the 
docks,  bridges  and  boats.  At  daybreak 
it  looked  as  if  a  great,  cruel  hand  had 

I2C 


i 26  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

been  tearing  things  to  shivers.  I  de- 
scribed the  wake  of  the  storm  to  Aunt 
Fanny,  and  this  was  her  reply. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "  years  ago  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  make  the  best  of 
everything.  I  was  brought  to  this  de- 
cision by  hearing  my  old  friend,  Dr. 
Deems,  recite  : 

"  'Dear  friend, 

The  world  is  wide 
In  time  and  tide 
And  God  is  guide  ; 

Then  do  not  hurry. 
That  man  is  blest 
Who  does  his  best 
And  leaves  the  rest ; 
Then  do  not  worry.' 

"  In  my  quiet  moments  I  say  to  my- 
self, '  Fanny,  there  are  many  worse  things 
than  blindness  that  might  have  happened 
to  you.  The  loss  of  the  mind  is  a  thou- 
sand times  worse  than  the  loss  of  the 
eyes.'  Then  I  might  have  been  speech- 
less and  deaf.     I  do  not  know,   but  on 


The  Best  of  Everything    127 

the  whole  it  has  been  a  good  thing  that  I 
have  been  blind.  How  in  the  world 
could  I  have  lived  such  a  helpful  life  as  I 
have  lived  had  I  not  been  blind  ?  I  am 
very  well  satisfied.  I  never  let  anything 
trouble  me,  and  to  my  implicit  faith,  and 
to  my  implicit  trust  in  my  heavenly 
Father's  goodness,  I  attribute  my  good 
health  and  long  life.  If  I  didn't  get  the 
thing  I  wanted  one  day,  well,  I'd  usually 
get  it  the  next.  If  not  then,  well,  I 
realized  that  it  wasn't  good  for  me  to 
have  it  at  all.  In  the  case  of  my  loss  of 
sight  I  can  see  how  the  Lord  permitted 
it.  He  didn't  order  it ;  He  permitted  it. 
I  have  heard  my  heavenly  Father  say  : 
1  What  I  do  thou  knowest  not  now,  but 
thou  shalt  know  hereafter,'  and  for  my 
consolation  I  repeat: 

" ■  His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 
Unfolding  every  hour ; 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 
But  sweet  will  be  the  flower.' 


128  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

"  During  my  long  life  I  have  had  many 
a  hard  struggle,  with  bread  to  provide 
and  rent  to  pay,  but  I  never  lost  faith  in 
the  promise,  *  Thy  bread  shall  be  given, 
and  thy  water  sure.'  My  constant  peti- 
tion was,  *  Give  me  neither  poverty  nor 
riches.'  This  prayer  has  been  answered, 
and  for  the  past  sixteen  years  my  old 
publishers,  The  Biglow  &  Main  Co.  have, 
in  consideration  of  my  many  years  of  as- 
sociation with  them,  granted  me  a  regu- 
lar allowance. 

"  Here  we  are  to-day;  the  rain  is  pour- 
ing down,  the  wind  is  whistling,  the  day 
is  chilly,  yet  I  am  as  happy  as  a  lark.  He 
who  takes  care  of  the  sparrow  will  never 
forget  Aunt  Fanny.  'To-morrow  the 
sun  will  be  shining,  although  it  is  gloomy 
to-day.'  It's  worth  a  thousand  dollars  a 
year  to  look  on  the  bright  side  of  things. 
Many  a  storm  has  beaten  on  this  old 
bark  of  mine,  but  I  always  enter  the 
harbour  singing : 


The  Best  of  Everything    129 
if 

"  *  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way 
His  wonders  to  perform, 
He  plants  His  footsteps  on  the  sea 
And  rides  upon  the  storm. 

"  'Blind  unbelief  is  sure  to  err, 
And  scan  His  works  in  vain. 
God  is  His  own  interpreter, 
And  He  will  make  it  plain.' 

"  I  carefully  studied  history,  philosophy 
and  science,"  Aunt  Fanny  continued, 
"and  was  often  perplexed  about  sin  in 
the  world.  For  a  long  time  it  was  a 
problem  I  was  unable  to  solve.  I  thought 
about  it,  dreamed  about  it,  and  saw  no 
use  for  it.  Finally  I  reached  the  con- 
clusion that  this  was  the  best  world  order 
that  could  be  conceived,  and  that  if 
people  were  in  the  world  without  any- 
thing to  contend  with,  they  would  speedily 
become  pygmies.  So  I  stopped  troubling 
about  it,  and  made  every  endeavour  to 
conquer  and  make  the  best  of  it. 

"The  sufferings  of  life  caused  me  no 


130  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

little  anxiety.  Just  as  last  night's  storm 
banged  the  boats,  the  wharfs,  and  the  nets, 
so  sickness  comes,  and  tears  things  apart. 
While  thinking  over  this  I  was  consoled 
by  reading,  *  He  whom  thou  lovest  is 
sick.'  Then  I  said,  '  Suffering  is  no 
argument  of  God's  displeasure.'  It  is  a 
part  of  the  fibre  of  our  lives.  So  I  settled 
that  question  and  made  the  best  of  it. 

"  When  sorrows  came  to  myself  and  to 
my  friends,  it  almost  made  my  hear! 
bleed,  and  I  asked  myself  why  I  should 
go  thus  sorrowing  ?  In  looking  a  little 
deeper  I  found  sorrow  to  be  one  of  the 
threads  in  the  skein  of  life  that  must  be 
woven  in  the  warp  and  woof  of  existence, 
and  that  the  things  that  were  too  wonder- 
ful for  me  to  fathom  I  must  leave  in  the 
hands  of  Him  who  is  able  to  sustain 
under  all  circumstances.  It  was  while 
thinking  along  these  lines  that  I  also 
thought  of  some  lines  I  wrote  away  back 
in  the  seventies : 


Fast  Friends  for  Fifty  Years: 
Fanny  J.  Crosby  and  Hubert  P.  Main 


The  Best  of  Everything    131 

Never  be  sad  or  desponding, 

If  thou  hast  faith  to  believe  ; 

Grace  for  the  duties  before  thee, 

Ask  of  thy  God  and  receive. 

Never  be  sad  or  desponding, 

There  is  a  morrow  for  thee, 

Soon  thou  shalt  dwell  in  the  brightness, 

There  with  the  Lord  thou  shalt  be. 

"  Half  a  lifetime  has  passed  since  I 
wrote  those  lines,  and  a  thousand  and 
one  experiences  have  been  mine  in  the 
years  that  lie  between.  But  nothing  has 
happened  or  threatened  which  could  have 
warranted  my  altering  a  single  syllable  or 
thought  they  contain.  In  sunshine  and 
shadow,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  through 
every  step  of  the  journey,  God  has  given 
grace  and  glory.  There  is  nothing  sur- 
prising in  this.  It  is  according  to  His 
promise,  'And  no  good  thing  will  He 
withhold  from  them  that  walk  uprightly.' 
This  I  have  always  tried  to  do,  my 
Saviour  helping  me,  and  God  has  looked 
after  the  fulfillment  of   His  part  of  the 


132  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

promise.  For  me,  life  has  been  short  of 
many  things  that  some  people  would 
probably  rather  die  than  be  without. 
That  is  their  misfortune — not  mine.  It 
is  not  the  things  I've  missed,  or  never 
had,  which  make  me  sorrowful.  It  is 
the  things  I  have  had  in  full  measure 
in  which  I  rejoice  daily.  That's  how 
I  feel  to-day,  and  it  was  in  the  same  spirit 
that  I  wrote  the  lines  which  have  been 
proved  abundantly  true  in  my  own  life 
and  work  : 

God  will  take  care  of  you,  be  not  afraid, 
He  is  your  safeguard  through  sunshine  and 

shade ; 
Tenderly  watching,  and  keeping  His  own, 
He  will  not  leave  you  to  wander  alone." 


XI 

My  Love  For  Children 


They  are  buds  of  hope  and  promise 

Blessed  by  Him  whose  Name  is  Love 
Lent  us  here  to  train  and  nourish 

For  a  better  life  above ; 
Tender  plants  by  angels  guarded, 

Clinging  vines  the  children  are  ; 
Jewels  in  our  hearts  to  glisten, 

Precious  treasures,  O  how  fair  ! 

I  have  heard  the  children  singing 

When  my  heart  was  lone  and  sad  ; 
I  have  heard  them  in  the  distance 

And  their  music  made  me  glad. 
But  their  voices  cheer  and  charm  me 

In  the  Sabbath  homes  they  love ; 
And  I  think  they  will  be  sweetest 

In  the  saintly  choirs  above. 


XI 
MY  LOVE  FOR  CHILDREN 

11  Ah,  what  would  the  world  be  to  us 
If  the  children  were  no  more  ? 
We  should  dread  the  desert  behind  us 
Worse  than  the  dark  before." 

"  "¥~"\  LEASE,   Aunt   Fanny,  will   you 
\r*^  tell  us  a  story  ?  " 

We  were  gathered  under  an 
old  apple  tree  in  the  merry  month  of 
June.  A  children's  party  had  been  ar- 
ranged for  the  blind  singer  and  a  dozen 
children  were  sitting  around  her.  She 
was  a  true  child  among  them.  Together 
they  played  games,  recited  pieces  and 
sang  many  of  Fanny's  hymns.  Then 
one  of  the  youngsters  asked  her  for  a 
story.  "  Bless  your  dear  heart,"  she  re- 
plied. "  Of  course  I  will.  I  have  lots  of 
them  stored  away  for  children."  Then 
*35 


136  Fanny  Crosby  V  Own  Story 

she  began :  "  A  certain  man  had  two 
children,  a  boy  and  girl.  The  lad  was  a 
handsome  young  fellow  enough,  but  the 
girl  was  as  plain  as  a  girl  could  be,  and, 
provoked  beyond  endurance  by  the  way 
her  brother  looked  in  the  glass  and  made 
remarks  to  her  disadvantage,  she  went  to 
her  father  and  complained  of  it.  The 
father  drew  his  children  to  him  very 
tenderly.  ■  My  dears,'  he  said,  '  I  wish 
you  both  to  look  in  the  glass  every  day. 
You,  my  son,  so  that,  seeing  your  face  is 
handsome,  may  take  care  not  to  spoil  it 
by  ill-temper  and  bad  behaviour ;  and 
you,  my  daughter,  that  you  may  be  en- 
couraged to  make  up  for  your  want 
of  beauty  by  the  sweetness  of  your 
manners  and  the  grace  of  your  con- 
versation.' " 

The  children  looked  gravely  at  each 
other,  and  then  one  said,  "Tell  us  an- 
other, Aunt  Fanny."  She  smiled  as 
she  drew  a  little  book  of  four  pages  from 


My  Love  for  Children    137 

her  bag.  Turning  the  first  page  towards 
the  children  she  asked  them  its  colour. 
They  all  shouted,  "  Black." 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Fanny,  "  that  repre- 
sents sin.  I  want  you  to  remember  that 
sin  ruins  the  sinner.  Sin  is  always  black. 
It  is  the  transgression  of  the  law.  What 
is  this  colour?  " 

"  Red,"  was  the  ready  reply. 

"  Yes,  red.  And  red  is  for  blood,  and 
I  want  you  ever  to  remember  that  you 
are  redeemed  by  the  precious  blood  of 
Christ.  ( Unto  Him  who  hath  loved  us 
and  hath  washed  us  from  our  sins  in  His 
own  blood,  unto  Him  be  honour  and 
praise  forever.'  The  next  page,  you  see, 
is  white.  That  is  for  right.  Dare  to  do 
right.  Dare  to  be  true.  You  have  heard 
the  verse  which  runs  : 

"  '  Dare  to  be  a  Daniel, 
Dare  to  stand  alone, 
Dare  to  have  a  purpose  firm 
And  dare  to  make  it  known.' 


138  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

The  last  page  is  gold.  It  stands  for 
glory.  He  will  give  you  grace  and  glory, 
all  along  your  pilgrim  way.  Then  this 
golden  colour  represents  the  celestial 
city,  with  its  streets  of  pure  gold."  Here 
she  paused  and  bowed  her  head  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  went  on :  "  Dear 
children,  I  had  a  little  sister  once  with 
whom  I  loved  to  play,  but  God's  good 
angel  came  down  and  took  her  to  our 
Father's  heavenly  home  and  when  she 
went  I  wrote  these  lines : 

She's  gone,  ah,  yes,  her  lovely  form 

Too  soon  has  ceased  to  bloom, 
ftji  emblem  of  a  fragile  flower, 

That  blossoms  for  the  tomb. 
She's  gone,  yet  why  should  we  repine, 

Our  darling  is  at  rest ; 
Her  cherub  spirit  now  reclines 

Upon  her  Saviour's  breast." 

Aunt  Fanny  drank  her  cup  of  tea  with 
the  children  and  then  she  said,  "  Before 
we  go  I  will  recite  you  some  verses  of  a 
poem  of  mine,  written  after  a  person  had 


u 


My  Love  for  Children    139 

asked  me  if  I  loved  children.  I  love 
you,  dear  children,  with  all  my  heart  and 
soul,  and  would  rather  be  driven  out 
from  among  men  than  to  be  disliked  by 
children  : 

Love  the  children  ?    What  a  question  ! 

Cold  indeed  the  heart  must  be 
That  can  turn  without  emotion 

From  their  laughter  gushing  free. 
Yes,  with  all  my  heart  I  love  them ; 

Bless  the  children  every  one  ! 
I  can  be  a  child  among  them, 

And  enjoy  their  freaks  and  fun. 
*  *  *  * 

Love  the  children  ?    I  can  never, 

Never  pass  them  in  the  street, 
But  my  every  pulse  awaking, 

Thrills  with  love  to  all  I  meet ; 
I  have  heard  the  children  singing 

When  my  heart  was  lone  and  sad, 
I  have  heard  them  in  the  distance, 

And  their  music  makes  me  glad." 

The  children  clung  around  Aunt  Fanny 
as  she  entered  the  house,  there  to  be 
greeted  by  the  parents  of  the  children 
at  a  reception  given  in  her  honour. 


140  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

"  My  dear  friends,"  she  said,  "  I  am  so 
happy  to  greet  you  to-day.  I  have  had 
a  lovely  time  with  your  children,  and  1 
want  now  to  recite  some  lines  I  have 
specially  written  for  this  occasion : 

Among  the  honoured  guests  to-day, 
Within  this  home,  I'd  gladly  stay. 
I  come,  your  many  friends  to  see 
And  take  a  social  cup  of  tea. 

Your  floral  plan  is  just  the  thing, 
With  eager  joy  its  praises  ring, 
And  well  they  may,  for  too  we  trace 
Your  handiwork  in  every  place. 

Your  dining-room  arrayed  with  care, 
The  summer  daisies  blooming  there, 
Sweet  daisies  from  the  meadow  green 
That  add  new  beauty  to  the  scene. 

But  hark  !  my  signal  calls  away. 
I  would  but  cannot  longer  stay. 
Beloved  friends  and  patrons  all 
I  hope  you'll  soon  return  my  call. 
Your  daisy  chain,  your  cup  of  tea 
Will  in  my  heart  remembered  be." 


XII 

American  Hearts  and  Homes 


*  *  *  *  * 

Though  dreary  and  wild  was  that  wave-girt  shore, 

And  cold  was  the  wintry  air, 
The  voice  of  the  tyrant  was  heard  no  more ; 

The  angel  of  peace  was  there ; 
And  a  radiant  gem  from  her  crown  she  set 

In  the  path  where  the  moonlight  roams  — 
A  star  that  in  glory  is  shining  yet 

O'er  American  hearts  and  homes. 

O,  that  beacon  of  hope  in  the  darkest  hour 

That  hung  o'er  oppression's  night 
Was  the  guard  of  the  brave;  and  they  felt  its 
power 

As  they  looked  on  its  steady  light ; 
But  o'er  each  link  of  the  tyrant's  chain 

The  surge  of  old  ocean  foams, 
And  Freedom  the  goddess  that  dwells  and  reigns 

In  American  hearts  and  homes. 

***** 
Let  me  die  in  the  land  where  my  native  streams 

In  their  stately  grandeur  flow ; 
Where  the  tender  smile  of  affection  beams, 

And  the  skies  in  their  beauty  glow ; 
On  the  standard  of  Freedom  my  eyes  would  rest 

Ere  my  spirit  heavenward  roams ; 
I  would  give  the  last  sigh  of  a  faithful  breast 

For  American  hearts  and  homes. 


XII 

AMERICAN  HEARTS  AND  HOMES 

"On  the  standard  of  Freedom  my  eyes  would  rest 
Ere  my  spirit  heavenward  roams ; 
I  would  give  the  last  sigh  of  a  faithful  breast 
To  American  hearts  and  homes." 

"  "I  >OR  eighty  years  I  have  watched 
ri  the  growth  of  the  American 
home,"  said  Aunt  Fanny,  "and 
there  is  nothing  than  concerns  me  more 
than  the  homes  of  our  dear  home  land." 
We  were  in  the  cupola  of  our  house, 
Fanny  and  I,  where  I  had  taken  her  after 
a  good  night's  rest.  It  was  shielded  from 
the  wind  by  a  sea-view  window,  and  I 
told  her  of  the  old  church,  built  in  Queen 
Anne's  day,  that  could  be  seen  from  where 
we  sat  and  which  bore  the  marks  of  the 
Revolutionary  guns.  I  told  her  also  of 
the  Governor's  mansion,  where  Benjamin 
J43 


144  Fanny  Crosby  *s  Own  Story 

Franklin  remained  overnight,  and  of  the 
old  families  and  homes  of  the  town  that 
was  four  days  older  than  New  York. 

"  I  have  a  poem,  *  American  Hearts 
and  Homes,' "  said  Aunt  Fanny.  "And  I 
believe  that  no  nation  can  rise  above  the 
level  of  its  home  life.  In  reading  the 
spirit  of  the  age  I  am  somewhat  afraid 
that  we  are  breaking  certain  ties  and  per- 
mitting certain  fires  in  the  home  life  to 
die  out  which  is  a  menace  to  our  national 
life.  Fine  furniture,  buildings  and  books 
alone  never  make  a  real  permanent  home. 
There  must  be  the  communion  of  souls. 
My  home  life  was  such  that  my  days  were 
guarded  wheresoever  I  was.  I  was  taught 
love,  loyalty  and  reverence  for  my  nation 
and  all  things  good  and  true.  I  know  it 
sounds  fine  to  shout  for  the  flag  as  the 
standard  of  our  country,  but  to  stand 
firmly  by  it  in  the  time  of  danger  is 
wiser." 

"  Aunt  Fanny,"  I  said,  "  do  you  think 


Hearts  and  Homes       145 

that  the  home  life  of  to-day  is  changed 
from  that  which  obtained  when  you  were 
growing  up  ?  " 

"  For  many  years  I  have  watched  the 
trend  of  the  people,"  she  answered,  "  and 
I  really  do  think  that  the  home  ties  do 
not  bind  as  strongly  as  in  my  girlhood. 
Many  attractions  that  were  quite  un- 
known in  my  early  days  are  found  in 
every  city  to-day.  Clubs  and  society 
take  up  so  much  of  a  mother's  spare 
time  nowadays  that  there  seems  scarcely 
a  moment  in  which  to  do  the  work  that 
ought  to  be  done  in  the  home.  It  may 
appear  a  little  old-fogeyish  but  I  have  firm 
convictions  on  this  very  vital  question. 

"  It  is  essential  that  both  in  home  and 
state  we  should  know  the  law  of  cause 
and  effect.  To  turn  a  boat  lose  on  yon- 
der sound  to  the  mercy  of  wind  and  tide 
would,  we  know,  result  in  a  ruined  craft 
And  just  as  a  boat  needs  a  guiding  hand, 
so  the  nation  and  the  home  needs  some 


146  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

one  at  the  helm  or  the  winds  and  waves 
of  the  world  will  work  havoc  and  dis- 
aster." 

11  What  do  you  think  are  the  safest 
methods  to  adopt  for  home  and  country 
improvement  ?  " 

Aunt  Fanny  raised  her  head  as  if  look- 
ing towards  the  sea  and  said,  "  A  few 
nights  ago  I  sat  thinking  over  a  better 
nation  through  a  better  home.  The 
better  the  soil  the  richer  the  crop.  The 
stronger  the  home  the  safer  the  state.  1 
said  to  myself,  '  Fanny,  if  this  home  and 
nation  is  to  endure  it  must  be  peaceful. 
Peace  and  harmony  are  the  prominent, 
polished  pillars  of  every  home  and  nation. 
Discord  has  blighted  more  firesides  and 
crushed  more  nations  than  any  other 
internal  foe.  The  price  of  peace  must  be 
paid,  or  the  solid  marble  pillar  will  bena. 
Prosperity  is  the  goodly  child  of  peace.'  " 

Aunt  Fanny  paused  and  taking  a  little 
New  Testament  from  her  bag  continued 


Hearts  and  Homes       147 

"  When  I  was  a  child  this  book  had  a 
practical  place  in  both  home  and  nation. 
During  these  many  years  my  love  for  the 
Holy  Bible  has  not  waned.  Its  truth  was 
not  only  born  with  me ;  it  was  bred  into 
my  life.  My  mother  and  grandmother 
took  pains  that  I  knew  the  Bible  better 
than  any  other  book.  All  that  I  am  and 
all  that  I  ever  expect  to  be  in  literature  or 
life  is  due  to  the  Bible.  Well  do  I  re- 
member learning  that  hymn  of  Charles 
Wesley : 

"  '  When  quiet  in  my  house  I  sit, 

Thy  book  be  my  companion  still  \ 
My  joy  Thy  sayings  to  repeat, 

Talk  o'er  the  record  of  Thy  will, 
And  search  the  oracles  divine, 
Till  every  heartfelt  word  is  mine.'  " 

I  had  just  returned  from  the  Burns 
country  and  told  her  of  the  cottage  in 
which  Scotland's  greatest  songster  was 
born.  I  talked  to  her  of  Ayr,  of  Alloway 
Kirk  and  Dumfries.     Then  I  read  several 


148  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

of  Burns'  poems,  finishing  with  "  The 
Cotter's  Saturday  Night."  This  she  re- 
quested me  to  read  again.  When  I 
reached  the  line,  "  The  priest-like  father 
reads  the  sacred  page,"  "  That's  what  I 
mean,"  she  broke  in  with,  "the  Book 
must  be  read  by  the  father  in  the  home. 
A  Scotchman  once  told  me  that  his 
country  was  greatly  enriched  from  the 
use  of  the  Scripture  around  the  fireside. 
No  Christian  nation  can  be  great  which 
ignores  the  Sacred  Book.  Read  me 
those  lines,  commencing  *  Then  kneeling 

down '   over   again,"    and    her   face 

gleamed  as  I  did  so. 

"  Then  kneeling  down  to  heaven's  eternal  King, 
The  saint,  the  father,  and  the  husband  prays. 

Hope  springs  exulting  on  triumphant  wing, 
That  thus  they  all  shall  meet  in  future  days, 

There  ever  bask  in  uncreated  rays." 

"  I  find  in  that  verse,"  said  Aunt  Fanny, 
11  the  strength  of  the  nation  and  the  home  ; 
and  I  know  that  homes  cannot  exist  long 


Hearts  and  Homes       149 


as  permament  places  in  uplifting  the 
nation  if  heads  of  the  families  are  prayer- 
less.  Neither  can  the  nation  rise  to  its 
highest  with  prayerless  Presidents.  Our 
greatest  Presidents  have  been  men  with 
unfaltering  faith  in  prayer.  The  spirit  in 
*  The  Cotter's  Saturday  Night '  must  be 
carried  out.  '  They  round  the  ingle,  form 
a  circle  wide.'  The  people  of  the  United 
States  must  know  if  the  home  fails  the 
Church  is  shorn  of  its  strength,  the  com- 
munity crumbles,  the  State  is  unstable,  the 
nation  doomed.  I  am  an  optimist,  who 
through  the  light  sees  the  danger  point. 
If  I  could  direct  the  reading  of  the  home, 
I'd  save  the  State.  If  I  could  select  the 
friends  that  frequent  the  home,  I  would 
secure  its  future.  If  I  could  bring  the  un- 
seen Guest  into  the  home  and  nation  as 
suggested  by  Dean  Alford,  I  should  be 
happy.  Nothing  of  education  or  culture 
or  breeding  can  take  the  place  of  Christ 
in  the  home— of  Jesus  in  the  heart.     His 


150  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

presence  alone  can  prevent  selfishness 
having  dominion ;  and  where  selfishness 
is  true  happiness  can  never  be  found. 
But  with  the  influence  of  the  Master 
dominant,  all  is  well. 

"  My  bark  is  wafted  to  the  strand, 
By  breath  divine, 
And  on  the  helm  there  rests  a  hand 
Other  than  mine. 

11  One  who  was  known  in  storms  to  sail, 
I  have  on  board ; 
Above  the  roaring  of  the  gale 
I  hear  my  Lord." 

Just  then  the  whistles  blew,  and  the  din- 
ner bell  rang.  As  we  went  down  to  dine 
I  felt  I  had  been  looking  out  of  the  sea- 
view  window  with  one  of  the  great  women 
of  our  time. 


XIII 

My  Visit  to  Cambridge 


Cool  from  the  wells  of  Elim, 

Softly  the  waters  bright 
Under  the  waving  palm-trees 

Smiled  in  the  peaceful  light ; 
There  were  the  tents  so  goodly, 

There  was  a  nation  strong, 
Resting  awhile  by  Elim's  wells, 

Praising  the  Lord  in  song. 

*  *  sfc  * 

Out  of  the  rock  from  Horeb, 

Smote  by  a  wondrous  rod, 
Quickly  the  gushing  waters 

Came  at  the  voice  of  God ; 
They  who  athirst  were  pining 

They  who  rebelled  before, 
Now  with  delight  and  wonder  filled, 

Drank,  and  were  glad  once  more 

Purer  than  wells  of  Elim, 

Under  the  palm-trees  fair, 
Sweeter  than  Horeb' s  waters 

Hailed  by  the  fainting  there — 
Lo,  at  the  feet  of  mercy 

Fresh  from  the  springs  above, 
Jesus  the  living  water  gives, 

Bought  with  redeeming  lovea 

T  1888  ] 


I 


XIII 

MY  VISIT  TO  CAMBRIDGE 

"  TT  HAVE  had  the  time  of  my  life," 
said  Aunt  Fanny  as  she  entered 
our  home  one  day.  She  clapped 
her  hands  and  continued,  "  I  have  been 
to  Harvard,  and  everybody  seemed  to  do 
everything  they  were  able  to  do  to  make 
my  stay  there  most  delightful. 

"  Just  think.  I  am  ninety-two  years  of 
age  and  have  been  sitting  at  the  feet  of 
the  professors  of  Harvard  College.  I 
feel  like  a  girl  again.  Truly  I  have 
drunk  from  the  crystal  streams  of 
thought  and  knowledge. 

"  Why  should  one  cease  to  learn  be- 
cause old  age  is  creeping  in  upon  him  ? 
I  am  learning  something  new  every  day 
of  my  life.  The  wide  world  is  my  school- 
room. All  nature  is  my  teacher,  '  and 
never  too  old  to  learn  p  my  motto. 
'53 


154  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

"  I  suppose  you  are  curious  to  know 
how  I  happened  to  visit  Cambridge. 
Well,  over  thirty  years  ago  I  met  a 
young  Baptist  preacher  who  was  very 
much  concerned  in  my  work  among  the 
railroad  men  and  among  the  outcast. 
His  name  was  Campbell.  He  was  a 
sturdy  Scotch  Canadian.  I  felt  that  he 
had  in  him  great  possibilities,  and  soon  he 
was  called  to  a  large  church  in  this  edu- 
cational centre.  You  know  a  clergyman 
must  continue  to  climb  if  he  is  to  hold 
his  own  in  the  shadow  of  old  Harvard. 
This  he  has  done.  For  years  I  had  lost 
sight  of  him,  but  now  through  some  dear 
friends  the  door  was  thrown  wide  open 
for  my  visit.  It  had  always  been  one 
of  the  great  desires  of  my  heart  to  visit 
Harvard  and  come  if  only  for  a  brief 
space  under  the  influence  of  that  haunt 
of  literary  and  educational  power. 

"  A  drizzling  cold  rain,  which  would 
have  chilled  many  at  my  age,  was  fall- 


My  Visit  to  Cambridge    155 

ing  but  that  did  not  discourage  me  in 
the  least.  We  started  with  a  song, 
'What  care  I  for  time  or  tide.'  On 
the  way  to  Boston  I  had  four  hours  of 
the  sweetest  expectation  possible.  On 
reaching  Back  Bay  Station,  a  taxi  met 
us  and  the  good  Scotch  minister  took 
me  up  in  his  arms  and  landed  me  safely 
in  a  cushion  seat,  and  before  I  could  say 
'  Jack  Robinson '  I  was  at  300  Magazine 
Street,  Cambridge. 

"  Just  as  the  evening  meal  was  over, 
the  door-bell  rang,  and  a  delegation 
from  the  Salvation  Army  entered  with 
a  request  they  be  permitted  to  ac- 
company me  to  the  church  (where  I 
was  to  speak)  with  a  brass  band  and 
play  some  of  my  hymns.  This  request 
was  readily  granted  and  so  the  next 
evening  they  came  with  their  instru- 
ments and  played  many  of  my  songs 
in  front  of  the  manse.  Then  followed 
by  hundreds  of  people  I  marched  from 


156  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

the  house  to  the  church,  to  the  music 
of  '  Rescue  the  Perishing.'  They  told 
me  that  more  than  two  thousand  people 
were  present.  I  spoke  to  them  from  my 
very  heart  of  that  wonderful  story  of 
Jesus  Christ  who  came  into  this  world 
with  a  love  big  enough  to  fill  every 
nook  and  corner  of  it,  if  only  mankind 
would  allow  Him<  It  was  a  great  serv- 
ice, the  presence  of  Christ  being  felt  both 
in  the  music  and  the  message. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  that  service  to 
my  dying  day ;  and  I  think  I  shall  re- 
member when  I  join  the  Church  Tri- 
umphant before  God  and  the  Lamb. 
When  it  was  over  I  slept  like  a  child 
at  the  joy  of  being  able  in  story  and 
in  song  to  tell  of  my  Saviour's  bound- 
less love. 

11  The  next  night  the  church  was  again 
well  filled  to  hear  this  little  blind  woman 
tell  the  story  of  her  life.  Many  of  them 
after  the  message  greeted  me  and  won- 


My  Visit  to  Cambridge    157 

dered  why  I  was  so  happy  and  strong 
at  such  a  good  old  age.  I  told  them 
it  was  all  in  the  story  of  that  little  hymn 
*  Hide  Thou  me.' 

In  thy  cleft,  0  Rock  of  Ages, 

Hide  Thou  me ; 
When  the  fitful  tempest  rages, 

Hide  Thou  me ; 
Where  no  mortal  arm  can  sever 
From  my  heart  Thy  love  forever, 
Hide  me,  O  Thou  Rock  of  Ages, 

Safe  in  Thee. 

"  The  next  evening  the  Locus  Musical 
Club  gave  me  a  reception.  That  was 
as  a  green  pasture  in  my  life.  They 
sang  for  me  until  I  felt  I  was  raised  to 
the  third  heaven.  I  told  them  some 
funny  stories  and  did  my  best  to  make 
the  evening  one  of  good  cheer.  They 
were  a  lovely  lot  of  people.  You  know, 
Boston  people  can't  help  being  nice.  I'm 
a  New  Englander  myself  and  love  the 
strength  and  habits  of  its  people.     I  felt 


158  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

highly  honoured  at  having  such  splendid 
people  come  to  see  and  entertain  me. 

"  When  they  told  me  that  many  of  the 
professors  of  Harvard  College  were  to 
call  the  next  evening  I  said  to  myself, 
'  Now,  Fanny  Jane,  you  must  put  on  your 
best  behaviour,  and  look  as  wise  as  Aris- 
totle.' I  had  heard  and  read  of  the  great 
men  of  Harvard  from  my  girlhood  days, 
and  as  I  have  already  told  you,  had  al- 
ways a  burning  desire  to  get  in  some 
way  under  the  influence  of  Harvard 
College. 

"  My  opportunity  had  now  come.  I 
was  dressed  in  my  best  '  bib  and  tucker.' 
I  must  confess  I  never  met  a  more  cor- 
dial company  of  cultured  men  in  all  my 
life.  There  was  one  thing  that  I  care- 
fully noticed,  and  that  was,  each  pro- 
fessor possessed  the  gift  of  a  strong 
hand.  You  know  I  judge  people  largely 
by  the  touch  of  the  hand,  and  I  am  al- 
ways cautious  when  I  shake  hands  with 


My  Visit  to  Cambridge   159 

a  weak-handed  person.  What  a  delight 
it  was  to  me  to  be  able  to  sit  down  by 
the  side  of  Oliver  Clinton  Wendell,  that 
master  in  the  science  of  astronomy.  I 
felt  like  a  child  at  the  feet  of  a  master. 
He  told  me  more  about  the  heavens  in 
that  short  time  than  I  had  learned  in  all 
my  life. 

"  My  conversation  with  the  professors 
was  most  entertaining.,  I  told  them  that  I 
had  always  had  a  deep  interest  in  Harvard 
College,  as  one  of  my  ancestors,  Simon 
Crosby,  was  one  of  its  founders,  and  that 
his  son  graduated  therefrom  in  1653. 
They  were  all  deeply  interested  in  the 
story  of  my  forebears,  and  as  I  told  them 
of  my  association  with  the  Presidents 
and  many  notable  men  in  music,  art,  and 
literature,  they  were  much  interested.  I 
had  to  tell  them,  too,  of  Princeton,  and 
my  visits  there  to  the  home  of  President 
Cleveland. 

"  During  the  evening  our  conversation 


160  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

was  directed  towards  many  persons  and 
problems  of  modern  life.  At  last  one  of 
them  spoke  of  Mr.  Roosevelt,  as  the 
peacemaker  between  Japan  and  Russia. 
I  have  always  enjoyed  the  spirit  of  ■  the 
Colonel/  and  this  story  was  related  to 
me  concerning  him  when  a  student  at 
Harvard. 

"  One  afternoon  he  had  to  declaim. 
He  had  an  abundance  of  confidence  and 
was  never  known  to  break  down  in  an 
oration.  He  marched  onto  the  platform 
with  an  air  of  tenacity,  and  began  in  a 
High  key : 

"  '  At  midnight  in  his  lonely  tent 

The  Turk  lay  dreaming  of  the  hour, 
When  Greece  her  knee ' 

here  he  became  confused  and  forgot  the 
next  word.  He  gritted  his  teeth,  closed 
his  eyes  and  repeated,  '  Greece  her  knee, 
— Greece  her  knee, — Greece  her  knee.' 
The  professor  seeing  the  dilemma  of  his 
student  looked  up  with  a  smile  and  said, 


My  Visit  to  Cambridge    161 

'Greece  her  knee  again,  Theodore,  and 
maybe  she'll  go.' 

"  Altogether  I  was  treated  so  loyally, 
and  entertained  so  interestingly  that  I 
did  not  want  the  professors  to  leave. 
What  a  joy  it  is  to  associate  with  such 
men.  The  next  day  they  sent  me  so 
many  flowers  and  so  much  fruit  that  I 
was  compelled  to  share  their  generosity 
with  others. 

"  I  went  to  my  room  feeling  that  I  had 
been  highly  honoured,  and  that  I  had  a 
goodly  heritage.  A  certain  feeling  crept 
over  me  that  it  is  difficult  to  describe. 
Truly  I  had  found  the  Wells  of  Elim  and 
I  thought  of  my  own  song : 

Cool  from  the  wells  of  Elim, 

Softly  the  waters  bright, 
Under  the  waving  palm  trees, 

Smiled  in  the  peaceful  light ; 
There  were  the  tents  so  goodly, 

There  was  a  nation  strong, 
Resting  awhile  by  Elim's  wells, 

Praising  the  Lord  in  song. 


1 62  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

"  Purer  than  wells  of  Elim 

Under  the  palm  trees  fair, 
Sweeter  than  Horeb's  waters 

Hailed  by  the  fainting  there, — 
Lo,  at  the  feet  of  mercy, 

Fresh  from  the  springs  above, 
Jesus  the  living  water  gives, 

Bought  with  redeeming  love. 

I  sat  in  my  rocking-chair  in  a  musing 
mood.  I  did  not  feel  like  retiring ;  it 
seemed  as  if  all  the  scenes  associated 
with  Harvard's  noble  past  came  crowding 
around  me.  I  sat  far  into  the  night  in  a 
sort  of  transported  reverie,  living  over 
again  the  stirring  scenes  of  American 
history  and  letters  which  revolve  around 
old  Harvard's  famous  walls." 

Here  the  door-bell  rang.  It  was  a  call 
for  Aunt  Fanny  to  visit  a  home  in  the 
neighbourhood  that  had  been  stricken  by 
the  sudden  removal  of  the  father  of  the 
family.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  said, 
"  I  must  go  at  once,"  and  away  she  sped 
on  her  mission  of  comfort. 


My  Visit  to  Cambridge    163 

That  night  she  spoke  in  my  church. 
"My  dear  friends,"  she  said,  "I  know 
there  are  hearts  in  this  community  that 
are  broken,  and  souls  that  are  going 
through  Gethsemane.  I  went  to  such  a 
family  here  to-day,  and  prayed  with  them 
in  their  sorrow,  and  sought  to  give  a  bit  of 
comfort  in  their  distress.  We  are  told  in 
the  story  of  the  Israelites'  sojourn  in  the 
desert  of  their  coming  to  a  place  where 
they  found  the  water  so  bitter  that  neither 
they  nor  their  cattle  could  drink  it.  Be- 
cause of  this  the  encampment  was  named 
Marah.  For  those  dear  hearts  who  had 
come  to  the  bitter  waters  of  life  I  have  writ- 
ten a  short  poem  called  '  Marah's  Waters' ! 

Not  always  on  the  mountain 
The  sweetest  flowers  we  find, 
But  sometimes  in  the  valley, 
With  cypress  branches  twined 
We  see  their  buds  unclosing, 
Their  blossoms  bending  low, 
A  hallowed  fragrance  breathing 
Where  Marah's  waters  flow. 


164  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

O  valley  of  submission, 
Where  once  the  Son  of  God, 
Our  precious  loving  Saviour, 
In  lonely  silence  trod. 
And  when  our  hearts  are  breaking, 
To  Him  we  there  may  go, 
Assured  that  He  is  nearest, 
Where  Marah's  waters  flow. 

O  valley  of  submission, 
Where,  leaning  on  His  breast, 
We  tell  Him  all  our  sorrow, 
And  feel  the  calm  of  rest. 
Tho'  oft  He  gently  leads  us, 
Where  verdant  pastures  grow 
His  Mercy  shines  the  brightest 
Where  Marah's  waters  flow. 

"  There  is  one  other  delightful  thought 
I  want  to  leave  with  you  and  that  is,  that 
while  we  have  our  days  of  sorrow  we  also 
have  our  seasons  of  joy.  I  always  look 
on  the  bright  side  of  life.  I  love  youth 
and  all  that  brings  sunshine  into  the 
home  and  church.  I  like  birthdays,  not 
so  much  because  my  friends  send  me  so 
many  cheery  words  and  tokens  of  friend- 


Fanny  Crosby  at  Seventy-five 


My  Visit  to  Cambridge    165 

ship,  but  because  of  the  pleasure  that  I 
may  be  able  to  give  to  them.  I  have 
written  hundreds  of  birthday  poems,  and 
I  want,  by  way  of  closing,  to  recite  one  I 
have  written  for  a  very  dear  friend.  It 
is  called  'A  Birthday  Vision/ 

Bending  o'er  me  like  a  cherub 

At  the  morning's  rosy  dawn, 
While  Aurora's  magic  fingers 

Robed  in  light  the  dewy  lawn, 
Came  a  form  of  rarest  beauty 

And  these  words  I  heard  her  say, 
Dear  Irene,  My  precious  treasure 

Hails  her  eighteenth  year  to-day. 

When  an  infant  in  her  cradle, 

I  have  watched  her  though  unseen^ 
I  have  scattered  buds  and  blossoms 

O'er  the  pathway  of  Irene, 
I  was  made  her  guardian  angel 

And  to  me  the  charge  was  given, 
Still  to  keep  and  shield  her  footsteps 

All  the  way  from  earth  to  heaven., 

She  is  reared  by  tender  parents 
In  her  home  affection  dwells, 

And  the  love  that  clings  about  her 
Of  a  perfect  union  tells ; 


66  Fanny  Crosby  *s  Own  Story 


Give  to  her  a  birthday  greeting 
Wafted  from  celestial  bowers, 

And  a  garland  I  have  brought  her 
From  a  sunny  vale  of  flowers. 

The  speaker  called  her  minstrels 

With  their  hands  to  crown  the  scene, 
Hope  and  friendship,  joy  and  music 

Sang  the  birthday  of  Irene, 
As  I  gazed  in  all  its  splendour 

Burst  the  glorious  orb  of  day, 
And  our  dear  one's  guardian  angel 

Plumed  her  wings  and  soared  away0 

Dear  Irene,  My  voice  repeats  it 
While  I  clasp  thy  hand  in  mine, 

This  the  prayer  my  heart  is  breathing 
May  a  cloudless  life  be  thine." 


XIV 

Ninety  Golden  Years 


*  *  W  *  * 

Yet  a  little  while  we  linger 

Ere  we  reach  the  journey's  end ; 
Yet  a  little  while  of  labour, 

Ere  the  evening  shades  descend ; 
Then  we'll  lay  us  down  to  slumber 

But  the  night  will  soon  be  o'er ; 
In  the  bright,  the  bright  forever 

We  shall  slumber  never  more. 

On  the  banks  beyond  the  river 
We  shall  meet  no  more  to  sever, 

In  the  bright,  the  bright  forever, 
In  the  summer-land  of  song. 

O  the  bliss  of  life  eternal ! 

O  the  long  unbroken  rest 
In  the  golden  fields  of  pleasure, 

In  the  region  of  the  blest ! 
But  to  see  our  dear  Redeemer 

And  before  His  throne  to  fall 
There  to  hear  His  gracious  welcome, 

Will  be  sweeter  far  than  all. 

On  the  banks  beyond  the  river 
We  shall  meet  no  more  to  sever 

In  the  bright,  the  bright  forever, 
In  the  summer-land  of  song. 


XIV 
NINETY  GOLDEN  YEARS 

u  Our  lives  are  albums  written  through 
With  good  or  ill,  with  false  or  true ; 
And  as  the  blessed  angels  turn 

The  pages  of  our  years, 
God  grant  they  read  the  good  with  smiles, 

And  blot  the  ill  with  tears  !  " 

"  "M      JTY   dear,    dear    friends,"    said 

\/ 1     Aunt  Fanny,   "  I  am  happy 

to   greet  you  here  to-night. 

These    ninety   years   are   rich    with   the 

wealth   of   goodness  sparkling  with  the 

best  spirit  of  sweetness  and  overflowing 

with  the  true  wine  of  joy  and  gladness." 

It  was  a  Sabbath  day  in  October  and 

crowds   of    people   filled   the   church   to 

hear  Aunt  Fanny  Crosby  tell  the  story 

of  ninety  golden  years.     She  stood  by  a 

small  table  that  was  loaded  down  with 

the    sunburst    roses.     As    she    lovingly 
169 


170  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

caressed  the  flowers  she  went  on,  "  I 
come  to  you  in  the  evening  tide  of  life 
with  a  rod  and  a  staff,  and  I  am  living  in 
the  sight  of  eternity's  sunrise.  Hope's 
star  shines  clearer  on  my  pathway  to- 
night than  it  did  fifty  years  ago.  It  is 
the  never  fading  flower  of  my  life,  it 
enriches  and  beautifies  my  every  hour. 
Hope  has  always  been  the  burden  of  my 
song.  It  is,  to-night,  the  dominant  fac- 
tor in  my  life  of  industry.  It  lights  my 
morning  hours,  it  brightens  my  noon- 
day activities,  it  glows  in  the  evening 
shadows.  I  constantly  am  writing  of  the 
door  of  hope  for  downcast  souls  and  I 
shall  carry  on  the  ministry  of  hope  till 
I  shall  enter  the  Celestial  City. 

"  During  these  ninety  years  I  have 
made  a  careful  study  of  human  nature, 
and  I  know  a  person  by  the  touch  of  the 
hand  or  the  sound  of  the  voice.  Even 
the  footstep  is  to  me  a  token  of  the  char- 
acter of  its  owner.     I  never  feel  safe  in 


Ninety  Golden  Tears     171 

the  company  of  a  person  with  a  very- 
pious,  whining  voice,  I  have  seldom 
made  a  mistake  in  the  selection  of  my 
friends  during  these  ninety  years.  Once 
in  a  while  I  have  been  fooled  by  frauds, 
but  not  often.  Dwight  L.  Moody  once 
told  me  something  that  has  often  helped 
me.  '  Fanny,'  he  said,  '  be  careful  when- 
ever you  see  a  man  with  long  hair  or  a 
woman  with  short  hair.  Usually  (though 
not  always)  they  are  freaks ;  and  schism 
and  freaks  were  ever  strong  hindrances 
to  the  advance  of  the  Christian  faith/ 

"  My  love  for  the  beautiful  has  devel- 
oped with  age.  The  sunset  on  the  Great 
Lakes  or  over  the  bounding  billows  has 
a  wonderful  charm  for  me.  The  fra- 
grance of  these  beautiful  sunburst  roses 
here  to-night  inspires  me  to  say  a  word 
concerning  the  good,  the  beautiful,  th$ 
true.  A  whiff  of  the  sea-breeze  is  life, 
giving  to  my  heart.  The  artist  touch 
in  city  or   country  I  always  enjoy.     Al 


172  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

Christmas-time  my  room  must  have  the 
holly  and  the  mistletoe,  and  at  Easter  I 
live  with  the  lily  and  the  rose. 

"  During  these  ninety  years  I  have 
been  careful  of  cultivating  a  sunny  dis- 
position, for  I  have  found  in  my  experi- 
ence so  many  who  when  they  grow  old 
become  bitter  and  difficult  to  get  along 
with.  I  made  up  my  mind,  years  ago, 
that  I  would  never  become  a  disagreeable 
old  woman,  and  that  wherever  I  went  I 
would  take  sunshine  and  good  cheer.  I 
belong  to  the  Sunshine  Society.  It  is 
my  purpose  in  old  age  to  grow  ripe,  and 
rich,  and  heavenly.  I  must  be  loved 
rather  than  feared.  Many  sorrows  which 
have  been  heartrending  have  crossed 
my  path,  but  out  of  my  Gethsemane  I 
have  reached  Olivet  where  angel  voices 
have  beckoned  me  to  lands  of  strength 
and  eternal  sunshine.  Of  malice  I  can 
safely  say  I  have  none.  I  love  the  com- 
pany of  children  better  to-day  than  I  did 


Ninety  Golden  Years     173 

fifty  years  ago.  I  am  at  perfect  ease  in 
their  company.  I  am  happy  to  know 
there  are  so  many  here  to-night.  I  al- 
ways say,  '  Bring  the  children.  Aunt 
Fanny  has  something  for  the  children.' 

"  I  have  sought  each  day  to  be  one  of 
God's  unselfish  souls.  From  the  time 
when  I  received  the  first  check  for  my 
poems  I  made  up  my  mind  to  open  my 
hand  wide  to  those  who  needed  assist- 
ance. During  these  ninety  years  I  have 
never  served  for  mere  pay.  I  have  al- 
ways wanted  to  do  a  full  day's  work  re- 
gardless of  what  the  financial  result  might 
be.  He  who  only  works  for  pay  gets 
nothing  more.  Gold  is  good  in  its  place, 
my  dear  friends,  but  when  it  becomes  our 
master,  it  places  a  crown  of  thorns  upon 
the  brow  that  crushes  the  strongest  to 
the  earth.  Better  a  man  without  money 
than  money  without  the  man. 

"  My  simple  trust  in  God's  goodness 
has  never  failed  me  during  these  many 


174  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

years,  since  I  learned  the  lesson  of  *  trust 
and  obey.'  The  Lord  has  duly  and  truly 
been  my  Good  Shepherd,  and  has  never 
permitted  me  to  want ;  for  two  good 
angels,  Mercy  and  Truth,  have  followed 
me  all  the  days  of  my  life,  and  I  will  dwell 
in  the  house  of  the  Lord  forever.  For  me 
to  doubt  the  care  of  Him  who  watches 
the  sparrow  fall  would  be  a  sin.  Faith 
supplies  me  with  good  gifts  from  my 
Father's  hand.  My  whole  life  has  been 
an  example  of  the  lines  : 

"  Trust  on,  as  clouds  of  evening  glide  away, 
And  leave  the  calm  reflection  of  the  day. 
Soon  shall  thy  waiting  eyes  His  glory  see, 
And  though  through  clouds  it  come,   so   let 
it  be. 

11  My  desire  for  a  long  life  has  been  ful- 
filled. I  claimed  the  promise,  *  With  long 
life  will  I  satisfy  thee  and  show  thee  My 
salvation.'  I  wrote  a  poem  to  one  of  my 
dear  friends  a  little  while  since  which  ex- 
presses my  heart  thought  in  this  connec- 


Ninety  Golden  Years     175 

tion.  My  mother  lived  to  be  ninety-one, 
and  my  grandmother  to  be  one  hundred 
and  three,  so  I  wrote : 

Firm  as  a  rock  since  first  we  met, 

Your  love  to  me  has  been ; 
And  this  is  why  I  venture  now 

To  tax  it  once  again. 

Please  greet  the  church  I  hold  so  dear, 

And  to  its  pastor  say, 
The  kind  remembrance  he  has  shown 

On  this  my  natal  day, 

I  never,  never  shall  forget, 

And  if  I  still  survive, 
I  hope  to  greet  thee  when  I  reach 

One  hundred  years  and  five. 

11  But  if  my  heavenly  Father  will  it 
otherwise  it  is  well.  I  am  but  waiting  by 
the  river's  brink,  watching  for  the  incom- 
ing of  the  tide.  Then  I  shall,  with  my 
Pilot,  enter  the  haven  of  eternal  sunshine 
and  service.  My  dear  friends,  I  am  a 
great  admirer  of  the  poetry  of  Lord  Ten- 
nyson, but  I  do  not  like  one  of  his  lines 


176  Fanny  Crosby's  Own  Story 

in  the  poem  '  Crossing  the  Bar.'  He 
says,  '  I  hope  to  see  my  Pilot  face  to  face, 
When  I  have  crossed  the  bar.'  Now,  / 
would  say,  '  I  know  I'll  see  my  Pilot  face 
to  face,  When  I  have  crossed  the  bar/ 

"  I  know  people  are  very  anxious  to 
hear  something  about  the  mode  of  living 
which  has  helped  me  to  live  so  long 
and  so  well.  From  girlhood  days  to  this 
present  hour  I  have  had  three  little  angel- 
guards.  The  first  angel  guards  my  taste. 
I  am  always  careful  about  my  eating. 
There  are  things  that  I'd  love  to  eat  but 
the  angel-guard  says,  '  You'd  better  not.' 
I  follow  the  simplest  form  of  diet — fresh 
eggs,  fruit,  vegetables,  spring  chicken, 
and  I  love  a  cup  of  tea.  The  next  angel- 
guard  controls  my  temper.  I  early  made 
up  my  mind  that  when  people  lose  their 
tempers  they  usually  make  fools  of  them- 
selves, so  I  resolved  always  to  keep  mine. 
The  next  angel-guard  is  over  my  tongue 
and  I  constantly  pray,  '  Set  a  watch,  O 


Ninety  Golden  Years     177 

Lord,  over  my  mouth,  keep  Thou  the 
door  of  my  lips.'  When  quite  a  girl  I 
learned  this  message  from  the  Psalm : 

"  *  What  man  is  he  that  desireth  life,  and  loveth 
many  days,  that  he  may  see  good  ? 

Keep  thy  tongue  from  evil,  and  thy  lips  from 
speaking  guile. 

Depart  from  evil,  and  do  good ;  seek  peace, 
and  pursue  it. ' 

"  My  methods  of  work  are  very  simple. 
I  retire  to  my  room  about  ten  o'clock  and 
spend  two  hours  in  thinking  out  a  poem, 
going  over  every  line  until  it  is  thoroughly 
fixed  in  my  mind.  The  next  day  I  re- 
peat what  I  have  made  to  a  copyist.  To 
work  out  my  hymns  I  must  be  alone  and 
quiet.  Many  have  asked  me  why  I  al- 
ways carry  this  little  book,  and  hold  it  in 
my  hand  while  I  am  speaking.  Well, 
that  is  just  one  of  my  habits  and  I  never 
think  of  leaving  home  without  it.  Some- 
times it  is  a  copy  of  the  Psalms,  or  the 


178  Fanny  Crosbfs  Own  Story 

New  Testament,  or  a  book  of  daily  quo- 
tations. When  reciting  my  poems,  some- 
times a  word  escapes  me,  but  by  raising 
this  little  book  towards  my  face  my  mem- 
ory is  prompted  and  the  lost  word  brought 
back.  At  this  advanced  age  I  can  recite 
my  long  poems  without  difficulty  and  talk 
to  large  audiences  for  an  hour  without 
being  tired  out.  There  is  nothing  in  this 
wide  world  that  gives  me  so  much  joy  as 
telling  the  story  of  my  Saviour's  loving 
mercy. 

This  is  my  story,  this  is  my  song, 
Praising  my  Saviour  all  the  day  long ; 
This  is  my  story,  this  is  my  song, 
Praising  my  Saviour  all  the  day  long. 

"  My  love  for  the  Holy  Bible  and  its 
sacred  truth  is  stronger  and  more  precious 
to  me  at  ninety  than  at  nineteen.  I  have 
no  time  to  cavil  over  the  sacred  volume 
or  raise  questions  of  no  value  about  the 
Word.  I  go  to  the  Book  to  find  God  and 
man's    relation    to    Him.     There   I   see 


The  little  book  Fanny  Crosby  always  held  in  her 
hand  when  speaking  in  public 


'Aunt  Fanny's"  industry :  "She  delighted  in  knit- 
tiny  wash-rays  for  her  friends." 


Ninety  Golden  Years     179 

Christ  as  representing  God's  spirit  in  hu- 
man flesh.  This  Book  to  me  is  God's 
treasure  house  and  there  is  nothing  I  love 
better  than  to  have  my  friends  read  to  me 
from  the  sacred  page.  It  is  my  bread  of 
life,  the  anchor  of  my  hope,  my  pillar  of 
fire  by  night,  my  pillar  of  cloud  by  day. 
It  is  the  lantern  that  lights  my  pathway 
to  my  Paradise  Home. 

"  As  I  look  down  the  avenue  of  these 
ninety  years  I  find  that  I  have  been  in- 
terested in  everything  that  has  been 
advanced  for  the  welfare  of  the  greatest 
number  of  mankind.  Standing  on  the 
ninetieth  golden  step  I  look  backward 
and  see  the  pathway  of  struggle  and 
victory.  I  take  a  glance  forward,  and 
lo,  heaven's  sunrise  breaks  in  splendoui 
on  my  brow. 

Here  let  me  wait  with  patience, 
Wait  till  the  night  is  o'er ; 

Wait  till  I  see  the  morning 
Break  on  the  golden  shore." 


180  Fanny  Crosby  \s  Own  Story 

The  service  ended.  Aunt  Fanny  shook 
hands  with  hundreds  of  people,  then  went 
with  me  to  the  manse.  She  took  a  cup 
of  tea,  and  went  to  her  room,  there  to  sleep 
as  peacefully  as  a  little  child. 


«« 


XV 
Some  Day,  Till  Then 


Some  day  the  silver  cord  will  break, 
And  I  no  more  as  now  shall  sing  t 

But,  O  the  joy  when  I  shall  wake 
Within  the  palace  of  the  King  ! 

And  I  shall  see  Him  face  to  face, 
And  tell  the  story — Saved  by  Grace0 

Some  day  my  earthly  house  will  fall : 
I  cannot  tell  how  soon  'twill  be : 

But  this  I  know— My  All  in  All 
Has  now  a  place  in  heaven  for  me. 

Some  day,  when  fades  the  golden  sun 

Beneath  the  rosy-tinted  west, 
My  blessed  Lord  will  say,  "  Well  done  !  " 

And  I  shall  enter  into  rest. 

Some  day, — till  then  I'll  watch  and  wait, 
My  lamp  all  trimmed  and  burning  bright^ 

That  when  my  Saviour  opes  the  gate, 
My  soul  to  Him  may  wing  its  flight. 

[  1891  ] 


XV 

44  SOME  DAY,  TILL  THEN " 

M  Some  day, — till  then  I'll  watch  and  wait, 
My  lamp  all  trimmed  and  burning  bright, 
That  when  my  Saviour  opes  the  gate, 
My  soul  to  Him  may  wing  its  flight." 

ON  Friday  morning,  the  twelfth  of 
February,  1915,  the  news  flashed 
around  the  globe  that  Fanny 
Crosby,  the  world  famed  hymn-writer, 
had  quietly  passed  into  the  Better  Land. 
On  Thursday  night  she  was  about,  as 
usual.  At  nine  o'clock  she  dictated  a 
letter  and  poem  of  comfort  to  a  bereaved 
friend,  whose  daughter  had  been  called 
to  the  House  of  Many  Mansions. 
Here  is  the  letter  : 

"  Thursday  Evening. 
"  My  dear,  dear  friends  : 

11  What  shall  I  say?     How  shall  I 
comfort  you  in  this  hour  of  your  bereave- 
i83 


184  Fanny  Crosby  }s  Own  Story 

ment?  I  can  scarcely  realize  that  the 
white-robed  angel  has  entered  your  home 
and  left  you  desolate ;  yet  no,  you  are 
not  desolate,  for  there  comes  a  message 
of  inspiration  that  whispers  to  you  all : 
*  What  I  do  ye  know  not  now,  but  you 
shall  know  hereafter.'  And  you  know 
that  your  precious  Ruth  is  *  Safe  in  the 
arms  of  Jesus.' 

You  will  reach  the  river  brink, 

Some  sweet  day,  bye  and  bye ; 
You  will  find  your  broken  link, 

Some  sweet  day,  bye  and  bye. 
O  the  loved  ones  waiting  there 

By  the  tree  of  life  so  fair, 
Till  you  come  their  joy  to  share 

Some  sweet  day,  bye  and  bye." 

She  retired  to  rest  and  nothing  was 
heard  until  about  three  in  the  morning, 
when  Mrs.  Booth,  with  whom  she  resided, 
thought  she  heard  footsteps  in  her  room. 
She  quickly  went  to  Fanny,  took  her  in 
her  arms,  when  the  sightless  singer  be- 
came unconscious.  Two  physicians  were 
immediately  called,  one  of  whom  said, 
u  Why,  Fanny's  been  dead  ten  minute*  " 


«  Some  Day>  Till  Then  — "    185 

"Oh,  it  cannot  be,"  said  Mrs.  Booth. 
They  sought  to  restore  her  to  life  but 
without  avail.     Her  spirit  had  fled. 

Letters  of  condolence  poured  in  from 
far  and  near.  On  the  day  of  the  funeral 
many  who  had  been  associated  with  Aunt 
Fanny  in  life  stood  by  her  silent  form  as 
she  lay  in  her  casket.  She  was  always 
fond  of  flowers,  and  her  favourite  blooms 
were  everywhere  apparent.  She  seemed 
to  be  sleeping  in  a  bed  of  violets.  A  fact 
not  usually  known  was  that  whenever  she 
travelled  she  took  along  with  her  a  little 
silk  American  flag.  As  she  lay  asleep 
that  silk  flag  rested  in  her  right  hand, 
and  was  buried  with  her. 

George  C.  Stebbins,  with  whom  I  sat 
at  the  funeral  service,  said  to  me,  "  Fanny 
wrote  for  the  hearts  of  the  people,  and 
she  wrote  even  better  than  she  knew. 
She  imbued  all  she  ever  did  with  a  befit- 
ting spirit — the  spirit  of  sweetness." 

Ira    Allan   Sankey,    Hubert   P.    Main 


186  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

George  C.  Stebbins,  and  S,  Trevena 
Jackson  were  the  honourary  pall-bearers. 
Long  before  the  services  began  the 
church  was  filled  to  its  utmost  capacity. 
Ministers  of  all  the  churches  from  the  city 
and  surrounding  country,  together  with 
many  from  other  cities,  attended.  Repre- 
sentatives of  church  and  patriotic  organi- 
zations were  present  in  large  numbers.  It 
was  said  to  be  the  largest  funeral  service 
ever  conducted  in  the  city  of  Bridgeport. 
The  floral  decorations  were  in  keeping 
with  the  beauty  of  the  dead  singer's  life. 
Four  tall  palms  were  arrayed  along  the 
pulpit  platform.  The  first  was  decorated 
with  white  roses  and  white  carnations. 
Between  the  first  and  second  palms  floral 
pieces  were  arranged.  The  second  palm 
was  arrayed  with  red  tulips  and  white 
lilieSo  In  the  centre  of  the  platform  was 
a  bower  of  flowers,  consisting  of  a  plaque 
of  frezias  and  Roman  hyacinths,  a  spray 
of  narcissus  and  violets.     In  this  bowei 


«  Some  Day,  Till  Then  — "    187 

of  flowers  lay  a  cross  of  narcissus.  The 
third  palm  was  trimmed  with  pink  roses 
and  Easter  lilies.  Between  this  and  the 
last  palm  was  a  wreath  of  frezias,  violets, 
and  magnolias.  Then  a  heart  of  white 
carnations  and  narcissus.  The  fourth 
palm  was  decorated  with  white  roses  and 
Easter  lilies  and  near  it  a  bunch  of  violets 
and  wheat,  sent  by  Aunt  Fanny's  old 
hack  driver. 

The  choir,  with  the  congregation,  sang 
Aunt  Fanny's  favourite  hymn,  "  Faith  of 
Our  Fathers."  The  Rev.  H.  A.  Daven- 
port, of  the  People's  Presbyterian  Church, 
led  in  prayer.  The  choir  sang,  "  Safe  in 
the  Arms  of  Jesus  "  and  "  Some  Day  the 
Silver  Cord  will  Break."  Rev.  Geo.  M. 
Brown,  pastor  of  the  First  Methodist  Epis- 
copal Church,  of  which  Fanny  Crosby  was 
a  member,  said  in  part:  "You  have  come 
to  pay  tribute,  and  to  crown  a  friend. 
There  must  have  been  a  royal  welcome 
when  this  queen  of  sacred  song  burst  the 


i88  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

bonds  of  death  and  passed  into  the  glories 
of  heaven.  She  had  been  anticipating 
the  time  of  her  coronation.  Of  late  she 
talked  more  freely  of  this  hour  than  she 
had  been  accustomed  toc  Her  later  writ- 
ings are  full  of  it,  as  witness  the  follow- 
ing entitled  ■  A  Little  While ' : 

'  A  little  while  to  sow  in  tears  and  meekness, 
The  precious  seed  along  the  vernal  plain, 
Till  into  life  the  tender  blades  expanding 
Fresh  promise  gives  to  summer's  ripening 
grain. 

« A  little  while  we  weep  for  those  we  cherish, 
As  one  by  one  they  near  the  river's  brink,— 
A  little  while  to  catch  their  sweet  assurance 
That  we  in  heaven  shall  find  each  broken 
link. 

6  A  little  while  !  and  thus  the  glorious  dawning, 
Of  that  fair  morn  beyond  the  swelling  tide,— 
When  we  shall  wake,  and  in  our  Saviour's 
likeness, 
Perfect  and  pure  we  shall  be  satisfied.' 

"  My  text  for  this   occasion   is  taken 


"  Some  Day,  Till  Then—  "    1 89 

from  Second  Timothy  4 : 1 — 'I  have  fought 
a  good  fight,  I  have  finished  my  course, 
I  have  kept  the  faith,  henceforth  there  is 
laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of  righteousness, 
which  the  Lord,  the  righteous  judge, 
shall  give  at  that  day.' 

"  Like  myself  I  am  sure  you  feel  that 
words  are  inadequate  to  tell  the  story 
of  Fanny  Crosby's  greatness  and  good- 
ness. 

"  By  her  faith,  her  hope  and  her  love 
she  more  nearly  exemplified  the  Christian 
graces  than  any  other  person  I  have  ever 
known.  Her  faith  was  rich  and  full,  with 
no  taint  of  doubt  to  lessen  the  sweetness 
of  her  assurance.  If  she  believed  too 
much  she  lost  nothing  by  it  in  this  life, 
and  certainly  not  in  the  life  into  which  she 
has  entered. 

"  In  the  thousands  of  hymns  she  has 
given  to  the  world  a  false  note  is  not 
sounded.  Faith,  hope  and  love — these 
three   chords  were  always  dominant.     I 


190  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 

doubt  if  she  ever  had  a  pessimistic 
thought,  and  she  counted  her  blindness 
among  her  blessings.  No  discouraged 
mortals  ever  went  to  her  for  help  but  car- 
ried away  a  new  song  of  hope  in  their 
hearts.  Her  great  desire  was  to  help  the 
sinful  to  a  better  life,  believing  as  she  al- 
ways did  that 

'Down  in  the  human  heart,  crushed  by  the 
tempter, 

Feelings  lie  buried  that  grace  can  restore ; 

Touched  by  a  loving  hand,  wakened  by  kind- 
ness, 

Chords  that  were  broken  shall  vibrate  once 
more.' 

"  Her  hymns  have  won  thousands  to 
penitential  tears.  And  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at,  for  she  believed  that  no  man 
sank  so  low  but  that  he  could  be  re- 
claimed by  salvation." 

Dr.  Brown  went  on  to  say  it  would  be  a 
most  fitting  thing  for  Bridgeport  to  build 
their     proposed    new    Rescue    Hall    in 


"  Some  Dayy  Till  Then  — "    191 

memory  of  Fanny  Crosby,  to  be  known 
as  the  Crosby  Memorial  She  was  pre- 
eminently their  poet,  their  guardian  angel, 
their  hope.  The  speaker  dwelt  on  the 
assistance  that  Fanny  Crosby  has  been 
to  those  who  had  once  lost  hope  in  Divine 
favour,  but  who  now  had  been  brought 
back  into  the  light  of  pardon.  A  Crosby 
Memorial  would  be  an  honour  to  the  city 
and  would  always  be  a  distinguishing 
mark.  Dr.  Brown  closed  his  address  by 
reciting  a  poem  sent  to  him  by  Eliza  Ed- 
munds Hewitt  of  Philadelphia,  author  of 
"  Will  There  Be  Any  Stars  in  My  Crown," 
and  other  hymns : 

"  Away  to  the  country  of  sunshine  and  song, 
Our  song-bird  has  taken  her  flight ; 
And  she  who  had  sung  in  the  darkness  so  long 

Now  sings  in  the  beautiful  light ; 
The  harp-strings  here  broken  are  sweetly  re« 
strung 
To  ring  in  a  chorus  sublime  ; 
The  hymns  that  on  earth  she  so  trustfully  sung 
Keep  tune  with  eternity's  chime  ! 


92  Fanny  Crosby  s  Own  Story 


"  What  heart  can  conceive  of  the  rapture  she 
knows 
Awakened  to  glories  so  bright, 
Where  radiant  splendour  unceasingly  glows, 

Where  cometh  no  shadows  of  night ! 
Her  ■  life-work  is  ended,'  and  over  the  tide, 
'  Redeemed  '  in  His  presence  to  stand, 
She  knows  her  Redeemer,  for  her  crucified, 
1  By  the  print  of  the  nails  in  His  hand. ' 

"  O  'Blessed  Assurance ' — the  lamp  in  her  soul 
That  made  earthly  midnight  as  naught ! 
A  «  New  song  '  of  joy  shall  unceasingly  roll 
To  Him  who  her  ransom  had  bought. 
To  'Rescue  the  Perishing,'  her  great  delight, 

What  bliss,  in  the  Homeland,  to  meet 
With  those  she  had  told  of  the  Lord's  saving 
might, 
Together,  to  bow  at  His  feet. 

"  Good-bye,  dearest  Fanny,  good-bye  for  a  while ; 

You  walk  in  the  shadows  no  more ; 
Around  you,  the  sunbeams  of  glory  will  smile ; 

The  Lamb  is  the  Light  of  that  Shore  ! 
Some  day  we  will  meet  in  the  City  above ; 

Together,  we'll  look  on  His  face  ; 
Safe,  '  Safe  in  the  Arms  '  of  the  Jesus  we  love  \ 

Together  we'll  sing,  ■  Saved  by  Grace.'  " 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


